A Game of Souls
by Aya Renee
Summary: "The sparse flickering of light cast his beautiful features into shadow, making him look like the dangerous, fallen angel she had fancied him to be. Syn realized with a rush of damning clarity that her vulnerable soul was threatened far more perilously in Loki's arms than it had ever been at the hands of Thanos."
1. A Forging of Stars

Synopsis: Ragnarok approaches. Prophecy reveals that Loki will be its harbinger. Or the world's salvation. Thanos the Mad has Loki's soul, Syn the Betrayed has Loki's magic. So begins a journey of self-discovery, and self-recovery, featuring romance, adventure, a reluctant hero, Nidhogg -a cat, Tryggr -a horse, Tony Stark -a camera hog, nine realms, six Avengers and a heroine twice-betrayed.

Disclaimer: Nothing from Marvel or _Thor_ or _Avengers_ is mine.

* * *

_**Prologue. The Dwarf King's Forge, Nidavellir.**_

* * *

Another star would die tonight.

Stars died all of the time, millions of them collapsing and expanding their great lives throughout the infinite expanse of the cosmos. It wasn't something that Kindra, daughter of Eitri, normally concerned herself with.

But this star was different.

Father was going to kill it.

Kindra sat hunched over her workbench, and tried not to think about the heat of a star at its twilight moment. Her nimble fingers worked the shimmering uru into delicate links on a chain so thin and ethereal, it would be difficult for anyone to tell that it was made of such a powerful, strong substance.

The magical metal was rare, and she must not make a mistake. She must concentrate. She must not think about what her father was doing right now. She must not think about how his dark eyes had warmed and shimmered when he had given his last orders.

_Kindra, my daughter, you know what must be done. Finish the necklace, so that it is ready upon the completion of my own task._

He had cupped her cheek with his hand, before he had turned to go, and she had felt the thick, calloused scars that covered his palm and extended in burning lines up his forearms to tease around his elbow.

One couldn't forge in a star and not expect to be forged in return.

She cursed the Allfather under her breath, for sending him out on such dangerous orders, but not too loudly, since one never knew if Heimdall might be listening. And then she cursed Mjolnir, and this time she cursed louder, for although it was a beautiful, perfect weapon, it had given her father's talent notoriety and attention.

One couldn't make a weapon like that and not expect to have a repeat customer.

Except it wasn't a weapon that Odin wanted this time.

* * *

_**Present day. Stark Tower, Midgard.**_

* * *

Natasha bristled and tapped her foot with impatience as the elevator ascended Stark tower. She'd only had one month. One month to spend with Barton. It wasn't even enough to _start_ making up for all the time they had lost. And now here they were, contacted by Tony on behalf of Thor to come discuss some new potential threat in the universe.

And it was all because of _him_. Again. New York _still_ hadn't recovered from the last time he had visited their little corner of the universe. People went to France with their cameras and travel guides and took a liking to having croissants for breakfast. Loki came to Earth with his bull horns and his voodoo staff and had taken a liking to having, well, _everything_. Loki was to tourism what Stalin had been to a little manifesto on class struggle in the old country.

She had liked knowing he was back in Asgard. She was calmer knowing he was someone else's problem. And she liked it when she was calm. Barton liked it when she was calm. Her enemies most definitely did _not_ like it when she was calm, and this was a technique she had quite perfected, because despite what people may say, pain is not pain. Pain coming from a woman who speaks to you in a soft voice like your mother reading bedtime stories, and smiles gently with the promise that the next story will be the _Nutcracker,_ is infinitely worse than pain.

And yet _he_ had deemed her nothing more than a balm. How _dare_ he? She could certainly use such a ruse to her advantage, but it made her decidedly angry that the insufferable Asgardian had assumed that that was all she was capable of. She scoffed at the thought. She could make a man beg for a balm. She could give a man a balm that would make his skin boil and fill him with so much suffocating agony he would beg for the pain _before_ the balm.

Just because it wasn't soothing didn't mean it wasn't a balm. And she had shown _exactly_ what she could really do, in the end. They all had.

That final thought soothed her like a ba…like something really soothing. As she entered Stark's conference room, calm and collected, she was faced with him again, sitting at one end of the table and flanked by two other Asgardians. Thor she recognized, the other woman, she did not.

Loki lounged between them, almost indolently, as if bored. As if inter-planetary meetings regarding the future of the cosmos were something he tried to fit in every Friday afternoon, right between genocide and his lunch break. He was wearing shackles on his wrists, but not the muzzle she had seen him in last. He was positioned closer to Thor than to the unfamiliar Asgardian woman, and leaning slightly away from her. It could be nothing, one never knew.

But Natasha always noticed the little things. Little things could be very useful. A little pressure here, a little squeeze there, and a man could tell you all his secrets. Or, scream them, anyway. Little things could be big things, in the right context. She filed the tidbit of information away for later comparison and analysis. Stark had arrived. Early this time.

That was odd.

Tony entered his conference room to a resounding silence, and that needed to be rectified immediately. He took in the three Asgardians at one end of the table, Natasha at the other end. She seemed to be engaged in some sort of macabre staring contest with their former adversary, so he took a moment to give Thor a passing nod, since they had shared a greeting earlier, before studying the third Asgardian in the room.

He was surprised to see that she was looking at him with a beatific smile on her face. It was a smile he was accustomed to seeing on the big-breasted bombshells that tended to wait for him outside of the bars he used to frequent. Definitely not as sleazy, but it was still like she recognized him somehow. Like she knew him. His gaze flickered down to her intricate golden breastplate. It glinted with a polished rich sheen of some metal his fingers twitched to study. And, more importantly, it curved in such a way that more than hinted at all sorts of wonders hidden beneath.

Like a subpoena. She could definitely tuck a subpoena in there.

"Hey, Little Miss Sunshine, you got pockets in that thing? Where do you keep your lipgloss?"

Three pairs of Asgardian eyes were now looking at him. The blue were confused, the green…unfathomable.

The woman's eyes were gold, which was weird and oddly compelling, and they looked decidedly amused. "You don't want to know."

"No, I really do." He plopped quickly into the seat next to her and rested his chin on his palm.

It was an effective trick. Men invariably got annoyed but women usually loved it.

Golden-eyes lifted a gauntlet clad wrist, and teased, "It's tucked up my sleeve, and it is such a pain. You think Stark Industries could make me a purse to go with this get-up?"

He had to actually confirm for them he _was_ Tony Stark before they could issue the subpoena though, right? He should have paid better attention last time but there had kinda been more important things going on in his life. Like that Audi R8 Spyder convertible.

Except there was no _way_ D.C. could be this creative. Plus they had become decidedly less interested in trying to get their grubby government hands on his suits once he became affiliated with SHIELD. Not to mention he'd received the message that Thor and company would be arriving at his tower with an important dilemma to discuss through Jarvis, and he was confident their methods of communication were secure.

He pulled his head back from his palm and snapped his fingers. "That is exactly what Stark Industries has been missing. High danger accessories. For the woman on the go save the universe. Hey Romanoff, you interested? Or are you just gonna stick with the whole bullets for bracelets look? No? Okay."

He wasn't usually one to let something as paltry as a total freezing reception stand in his way, but that woman was a tough nut to crack, and right now her attention was focused sharply on their old enemy turned prisoner.

He swiveled back around to the striking woman in the long, golden drapery cloak, and tried to shake the image of everyone on Asgard ogling window treatments.

"Have we met?"

"No, but I've read about you, Mr. Stark. It's such a pleasure to meet you in person."

"Please, call me Tony. We're all friends here, right?" He made a point of smiling at Loki when he said it, because he could never resist an opportunity to needle someone, before he shifted his gaze to Golden-eyes again. "Are they starting fanclubs for me in Asgard now?"

"I'm sure they will be. But as for myself, I've…spent some time on Earth."

He glanced at Thor, currently standing while observing their exchange with crossed arms, and remembered a conversation they had once shared. For Thor, "time spent on Earth" had meant a family feud that almost took a planet out in its wake. He wondered what it meant for Golden-eyes. And her _face, _damn it, where had he seen it before? He kept up the pretense of conversation as his fingers flickered madly over the phone he had pulled from his pocket and rested on his thigh.

"Global warming, rampant poverty, the arms race, and now we can add Asgardian infestation to the mix. How many more of you are hanging around? Cause I always thought there was something weird going on with Gerard Butler."

There was a laugh from the other end of the table. Natasha had perked up. "You're just mad because that overly busty Australian tennis star said he was sexier than you."

Of all the moments for her to take an interest.

"She isn't too busty. She can't be. She plays tennis. It's a balance thing. There really is no accounting for taste, is there?" He pursed his lips at her before returning his attention to Golden-eyes. "Seriously, sunshine, is he one of yours? I must know."

She turned towards Loki, seated to her left, her long red-gold curls bouncing over her shoulder with the sharp movement. "I'm not quite certain. Loki, are there others, outside of Thor and I, that you've gotten exiled due to your little games?"

One quickly lifted brow provided a brief hint that Loki was surprised to be addressed during their little exchange, before the mask of droll amusement swept down to veil his pale features. "Well as far as actual intentions go, it would not be too far off the mark to say that I saved the gift of exile just for you." The words practically oozed from his lips with practiced charm, in a way any other man might have said "You have the last piece of chocolate, darling," or "I'm happy doing whatever you decide, dear."

Thor clenched his fist and shifted his feet to a more threatening pose, but Tony was too distracted by Golden-eyes to worry about any impending violence between overly entitled Asgardian princes. She had sent Loki a look that didn't stop at glaring daggers, but threw in a few rapiers, a broadsword, and an over-sized claymore. Tony found himself barely resisting the urge to duck when she turned to face him again.

A blink on the screen in his lap signaled success, and he let out a little "Hunh" at what he saw. A few seconds later he had commandeered all available screens in the room and transferred the newspaper images. Her striking face was now, quite literally, lighting up the room.

"I _knew_ I'd seen that face before. Sinclair Donovan. You're that bigwig lawyer. And, incidentally, bigwig _is_ the nicest term I have to precede the word lawyer, no offense. You were all over the papers when you went missing."

"I was found." There were enough layers of meaning in those three simple words to make an onion peel itself and weep for shame. The _layers_ had layers. She didn't seem to be interested in filling in the blanks either, and she had definitely lost her amused demeanor.

Tony was not a man easily fascinated by people. He liked fast machines and even faster computers and people were usually only entertaining to him if he could find little ways to annoy them. Fast. He hated onions almost as much as he hated being handed things. He hoped to god no one ever tried to hand him an onion. But there was a dynamic here that needed figuring out. He hated it when he didn't have all the variables. He stored what little he knew of the equation away to be solved later. Barton had entered the room, Rogers close on his heels, and he was fairly certain he saw fun go scampering out in terror.

That was just too bad.

* * *

Loki was playing a very dangerous game. The ultimate stakes were nigh impossible to completely fathom, even for him, and most of the cards were either missing or blank. But at least he was the one holding them. Most of them.

As his old adversaries filed in and found seats around the table, greeting each other in the process, he risked a glance to the woman seated at his right. He couldn't count how many times he had tricked her or betrayed her in the great expanse of their past. And now control of his magic rested in her hands.

It was a card he needed to get back.

And he would.

Fate, the only bitch in the universe who could play a meaner game of chance than he, was on his side now.

All things considered, events had gone quite to his liking after Thor had returned him to his home. His prison, in a way. Except Asgardians tended to take the same approach to due process as Midgard took to high fashion. Sometimes it was in style and popular, and other times it was just optional.

They had found it exceedingly difficult to punish someone who was prophesied to potentially harness the means to stop Ragnarok.

That had been a fun card to play. He really wished he could have been there to see Odin's face when the prophecy had been revealed.

Ah yes. Fate had her hand on his back.

And she was pushing.

It was time to lay down another card.

Except he was distracted by Barton's question. "Where's Banner?"

Loki forced himself not to move as Stark responded. "He'll be here later this evening. He was…a bit further away than the rest of you. Well, except for them."

Stark gestured to their end of the table, before adding, "Oh, and that's Sinclair Donovan. She's a lawyer. Or was. She's also from Asgard. Or was. I'm a little short on all of the exact details."

Thor took this as his cue to begin. "My friends, this is Syn, born of Vanaheim, but now a guardian of Asgard. Loki has no power here, as long as she is present. And yes, as Tony has so cleverly discovered, she spent some time on Midgard, a lengthier span of time than my own experience. But these details are not essential to discuss at the moment."

Loki almost laughed at Thor's poor choice of words, like she had spent a vacation here, not a term of exile for a crime someone else had committed. And by someone else he did mean himself.

"So what is this new threat to our worlds you wanted to discuss? It had better be a big one," Stark interjected, "I was enjoying my vacay."

"You weren't the only one," Natasha muttered under her breath.

Loki leaned back in his chair with a smile at the sound of Thor's beleaguered sigh. "The Chitauri were not Loki's only ally in the battle we recently fought together. Another enemy has been revealed, one who has amassed great power and commands even would-be kings. He covets death and seeks the destruction of the Eternal Realms, an event known as Ragnarok, to my people. The end times. And we have been given signs that the time is approaching."

Would-be kings. Thor had glared at him when he said it.

"Shouldn't that be Asgard's problem?" Leave it to the Captain to point out what he thought was the obvious.

Loki sneered at him, and spoke as if explaining to a child. Which pretty much summed up his general attitude when interacting with Midgardians. "I almost envy you your ignorance of the endless depths of the cosmos, and the interconnectedness of each and every layer within the infinite expanse. It must be so much simpler living in the small little worlds you all build for yourselves. Round and round in your little heads you go. Ragnarok as we know it will not simply be the end of Asgard. It will be the end of _everything_. All life, all worlds, will be threatened, if Thanos is allowed to continue in his plans."

"And that is something you care about?"

Loki sent him a cold stare. The Captain was a man overruled by sentiment, in his estimation. But a lack of sentiment did not equate to a desire for a cataclysmic event on a cosmic scale. "Your feelings are as foolishly naïve as your simple little existence. And just as breakable. Why would I wish my world destroyed? Or yours? I cannot very well rule what does not exist."

"It doesn't look like you're ruling much of anything, from where I'm sitting."

It surprised him that Stark was the one to interrupt their jabs and attempt to get the room back on track. "The annihilation of worlds is a pretty tall order. Who has the power to do that? And how? Does he have a Death Star?"

Loki found himself almost starting to like Stark. He could watch him and Thor talk and be endlessly entertained, seeing the simple expressions flicker across his so-called brother's broad, earnest face. The furrowed brow of confusion. The puckered lips of consternation. The slight tick in the lower jaw that signaled his inner fight to be patient and calm.

Ah, it seemed as if he won the round again. Thor's voice didn't even betray his inner turmoil when he spoke, at least not to anyone else. "He is called Thanos. It is said he was born millennia ago, misshapen and unseemly to his people, a race of beings that no longer dwell in this universe. And so as an outcast he grew and sought power and strength, and when he found enough of what he sought, he slaughtered his family and the remnants of his world. Stories are told of him as lessons to my people, although not all of us learn the lesson. He is almost as a myth would be in your realm, as he has not been seen or heard of since his rampage of vengeance so long ago."

Loki felt himself clenching his own jaw now, the crescents of his fingernails digging into his palm. The comment about not learning lessons was a jab for him. As if one could really learn anything substantial from a story. As if Thor in his self-righteous glory could imagine what it was like to feel misshapen and unseemly and outcast.

And he _had_ learned a lesson. Just because it wasn't the one they were selling didn't mean he hadn't learned. He just hadn't needed a story to drive it home.

Stark seemed to find Thor's tale amusing. "And now he's back. Did he find out about some long-lost cousins, and wants to finish the job? Because I've had plenty of 'long-lost cousins.' They can be trying. With all their lawyers and talks of wills and attempting to prove their unsubstantiated claims. Snoozefest. And they never visit on Thanksgiving."

Thor paused and took a breath. Loki wondered how long his newfound patience would last. "Thanos does not seek dominion so much as destruction, and perhaps he has been biding his time. He now has in his possession certain powerful artifacts so rare that I have only seen but one in the span of my life. They would have been difficult to acquire. They are called infinity shards, small colored gems in appearance, but like the Tesseract, they are repositories of great power, as they can bestow omnipotence over various aspects of cosmic existence."

Loki glanced around at the various levels of confusion and concentration on their faces. He thought a practical example might give them some clarification. He might as well throw Thor a bone or they'd be stuck in this stuffy room all day. "You have had contact with one of the six shards, admittedly some of you had more intimate contact than others, but you all can surely understand the concept. The mind shard."

Barton sat up sharply in his seat. "The sceptre."

Thor nodded. "Yes. It was powered by the mind shard. I do not need to explain what this stone can accomplish. I doubt Thanos was pleased to lose access to such an energy source."

Loki snorted. Thanos was not the only one.

"Wait, there's more of those power balls scattered throughout the universe?" Stark was leaning forward in his seat, eyes gleaming. He rather reminded Loki of the canine creatures so popular as pets on Midgard. He was near to drooling at the power potential under discussion.

Thor answered. "Thanos already has two others. The soul shard is one. We are not even fully sure the extent of its ability. It can mirror the mind shard, in some respects, that much is certain, but it is infinitely more dangerous for those under its thrall. How long it has been in his possession, and how he acquired it, we do not yet know. But the space shard he gained through association with Loki. It can bestow the ability to move easily throughout the realms, and between them, if one can master it. Loki has not been forthcoming as to how he himself acquired this shard."

Another glare. He was amassing quite a collection. He couldn't remember the last time Thor had looked at him without one.

Barton mused aloud. "So, he can manipulate souls. And minds. Or he could. And movement through space. How does this translate into, uh, Ragnarok?"

Barton stumbled over the unfamiliar word, looking for all the worlds like he had a mouthful of Alfheim taffy. Loki laughed quietly to himself, or so he thought, until he felt Syn's sharp elbow jab his side.

He assumed he was collecting glares from both sides now, but when he looked over to send one back in return, he was surprised to see her lips twitching.

Thor seemed abashed not to have a good answer. "We do not know. But he also seeks the Tesseract. It has powers that even we have not unlocked yet. Perhaps it will augment the shards he already possesses, or be used to combine them in some way. There is great power within the shards, but there are only hushed whispers to guess at how much power, and what sort of power, can be unleashed when they are combined together. Whosever holds all six could have absolute dominion over the entire universe, able to alter time, reality, any aspect of existence as we know it."

The Captain spoke again. "And how are we supposed to stop this being from bringing about this Ragnarok? Are we just gonna find the remaining cosmic gems that no one has ever seen? And why do we need this war criminal with us?"

Loki knew they all must be wondering that very thing, and he spoke carefully. "According to prophecy, we may have a chance at averting Ragnarok if we re-acquire what Thanos has taken from me."

"Your little travel trinket?"

"That would certainly help us. But no, I was actually referring to something far more precious, even to me."

"What does Thanos have that is more important to you than a means to power and magic?"

Loki sent the Captain a pointed look, before giving his answer in a whisper soft voice to a round of surprised faces. He couldn't blame them. It was the first thing he had said that day with complete sincerity.

"My soul."

* * *

**Author's Note:**

* * *

This story is not so much a part 2 as it is a spiritual successor to _Farewell, Remorse_. The tone and presentation are very different. You won't need to read that story to get into this one. All of the important and relevant history will be coming out in this story as it progresses. Including more details about shards and prophecies and what the heck Odin had forged and all that jazz, so if you are worried that you might have missed something there, well it isn't so.

My presentation does assume that the events of _Thor_ and _Avengers_ happened, and I get character and plot inspiration primarily from the movie worlds. And then I pad things out with elements from Marvel comics and Norse mythology, but like the movies, I often add my own spin (ie, my take on the infinity gems). Syn is not from the comic or movie worlds of Asgard, but my presentation of her is inspired by a goddess of the same name, attested to in ancient texts as one of the sixteen principal gods of the Norse pantheon. Her name means "refusal" in Old Norse, and she was a goddess associated with vigilance, the guarding of doors (especially Frigga's palace) and general defense, but also defense in terms of legal matters (especially against those wrongfully accused).

I hope it all works (eventually) and I hope you enjoy! Please review or drop me a message, it really does keep me going.


	2. A Study of Hearts

Disclaimer: Nothing from Marvel or _Thor_ or _Avengers_ is mine.

* * *

**_Stark Tower, Midgard._**

* * *

Syn did not think her first meeting with Bruce Banner, once he had arrived at Stark tower later that evening, was one of her better moments.

It could possibly end up on her list of Really Dumb Stuff You Did While In Midgard, which based on the amount of time she had spent here, was getting rather long. Thor had one of these lists too, but his was much shorter than hers. Although he made up for a lack of quantity with things like getting hit with a taser.

She was tempted to blame her current mistake on the deep intelligence in Banner's beautiful brown eyes. It was an almost gentle lure, beckoning, and so she couldn't resist a deeper peek.

She should have been more careful. Almost five years of living on Earth, stripped of her ability, had made her reckless.

She had forgotten how dangerous it could be to look deep into the heart of a person. She had forgotten how often she hadn't liked what she saw. Secrets. Things people kept hidden. Sometimes for a very good reason.

For Banner, what she saw, what she _felt,_ was Rage_, _with the capital letter and everything.

Not the rage of a person angry or bitter with reason, but rage with no direction or outlet. It was just pure and acerbic fury, the simple essence of it, undiluted, galled and fermenting. She felt it as a pull, at first, drawing her in, but then it was an indescribable pressure under her skin. Like everything on the inside was struggling to get out, as if her skin was boiling and peeling away with heat and agony.

It was, when she thought about it later, how she imagined it might feel to get hit with a taser.

She pulled herself back so quickly that she bumped into the imposing figure standing too close behind her. A vicious snicker signified that Loki not only knew that she used her gift, but also what she had seen. Like some boss from hell, he had always had a knack for catching her in her worst moments.

And taunting her with it. His whisper soft voice danced across her ear, his breath hot against the back of her neck, his tone perfectly pitched to reach the doctor standing across from her.

"And you thought I was a monster. Have you ever felt such rage? Such _power_? There was a time when you used to fear me, little guardian. Do you remember it as well as I do? And yet this monster deemed_ me_ a puny god. You saw the remnants of what it did to me when I was returned to Asgard. Did you sate your curiosity with what you saw just now? Perhaps you wish to take a deeper look?"

The creep had the nerve to stick his finger in the small of her back, and he was not-so-gently trying to push her forward towards the man under discussion. She belatedly realized that she was digging her heels into the floor, and felt instantly foolish.

Dr. Banner looked concerned. And decidedly wary. His glasses still rested on the bridge of his nose with an almost innocent air, but his lips were parted and his brow furrowed.

Great. The other smartest man in the room now thought she was a weirdo. Well done, Syn.

She forced herself to swallow and relax her shoulders, before holding out her hand.

"Dr. Banner. It's a pleasure to meet you. My name is Syn, of…Asgard. I am here to aid in the guarding of Loki, and the protection of Earth."

His hand reached out to clasp her own, and she felt warm skin and a solid squeeze and not even a hint of the riotous and staggering emotion she now knew simmered just beneath the surface.

It was disconcerting. How did he keep all that in?

"A deeper look?" He was still holding on to her hand when he asked the question, his eyes flickering to Loki before returning to her own. And then it hit her again, the surge of emotion smoldering in his question. Violence and wrath and her skin was itching again.

Her gift didn't usually trigger like that, without her prompting it. Maybe Odin had made some sort of mistake, when he had restored her status and ability. Was that even possible?

It wasn't like she could just march up to the All-father and demand a refund.

She pulled her hand away, and found her voice to answer his question. "I am of the Vanir. Born of Vanaheim, before I was sent to train in Asgard. Sight is a talent of my people. Some see across time, and gift us with prophecy. Some see across space, such as Heimdall, who guards the gates to the Eternal Realm. And others see…inward rather than out. Like myself."

She judged it one of the lamest explanations she had ever given of her gift, but she was finding it difficult to concentrate. His eyes were so non-threatening. There was still a question in their depths, and a flicker of concern, but mostly they were soft and inviting and this must be exactly how the mouse felt, caught up in the cobra's hypnotic dance of death.

Mesmerized, right before the kill strike.

Loki's finger in her back had been replaced by his entire palm, still an insistent, needling pressure, and it was then that she noticed something else. It was the amulet, given to her by Odin himself, under very strict orders of protection. She'd been told it served to harness Loki's magic, and it was a creepy looking thing, like a piece of twisted root with veins of shimmering metal. Enchanted metal. Uru. Usually reserved for the big guns of Asgard, like the Thors and the...well pretty much just for Thor.

And now her, apparently. She wore the amulet tucked under her tunic where it rested against her skin. Except it was no longer resting, but pressing against her chest as if it were a magnet, trying to get to the figure standing too close behind her and still touching the small of her back.

This was not something Odin had mentioned. She knew enchantments could often give objects an animate quality, but at the moment it really wasn't helping her feeling of being trapped.

She glanced around the room. Tony was leaning against the bar that took up almost one wall of the high-level suite that they had all retired to, except for Captain Rogers and Thor. He had two drinks in his hand that he was passing to Romanoff and Barton, and what she wouldn't give to have a nice cocktail right about now. They were all three staring at her, in confusion she assumed, and she really couldn't blame them. But then her recent words came crashing against her knowledge of Earth culture in a very uncomfortable explosion of embarrassment.

Asgardians were accustomed to a certain degree of invasiveness. Heimdall could be watching. Odin could be listening. Freya could be flying above on the wings of a falcon. But humans were much more protective of their privacy. In their minds, she had pretty much just violated someone.

Without permission.

Their expressions weren't confused.

She was pretty sure they were horrified, and felt the rush of shame shiver down her spine. Yeah, this moment was definitely going on her list.

She glanced behind her to the doors leading out to the veranda. "Please excuse me for a moment," she whispered.

* * *

**_A crack between worlds. Dimension: Unknown._**

* * *

The soul shard glowed in his hand, green light on purple skin.

He had not done much but stare at the shard since the moment his Chitauri had been defeated. Quite an expanse of time, for some.

But he had intimate experience with patience. And he didn't experience time the same way as other beings.

The shard had shimmered with a dull but unchanging emerald glow since their embarrassing failure. Until just now, when it flickered tenuously with another kind of light. One could easily mistake it for nothing but a trick of reflection, which in a certain sense, it was.

It just wasn't light that was being reflected.

It was a soul.

He had amassed quite a collection, over the centuries, with the help of the shard. He was obsessed with souls. He could, by some accounting, be considered the foremost expert in the universe on souls.

And their torment.

Most beings thought souls were something their bodies carried around inside like so much meaningless fluff. But this was all backwards. Existence works the other way around. A soul does not dwell inside who you are. A soul _is_ who you are. A soul is a being. A being is a soul. It's the souls that carry around corporeal bodies like too much extra baggage.

A body with no soul at all is not a state of existence. If he so much as squeezed his hand, destroying the gem and destroying the souls within, then the bodies would cease to exist.

Simple. And tempting. But ultimately pointless. They would all cease to exist anyway, if his plans came to fruition. And then he would give the souls to _her._ The Black Mistress. And she would love him again, he was sure of it. She _had_ to.

Souls and their torment. Oh yes, he knew all about that.

Because a body simply separated from its soul is different from a body with no soul at all. A body that is separated still lives on.

If one could call it living. A hollow, tormented existence. Empty. Barren. Forsaken.

The body _yearns_ for the return of the soul, and cries out in unguarded moments.

And the soul responds.

There was one soul in particular whose body he was very much interested in seeing again, and it had finally made a brief appearance.

He'd had this soul for an agonizingly long time, and it was in so much pain.

Gasping.

Dying.

The trail was slight, and already disappearing, but he had what he needed.

He made a gesture with his free hand, and felt a figure approach from the side.

"I have found him. Prepare the cell."

* * *

**_Stark Tower, Midgard._**

* * *

Tony had observed the meeting with barely concealed interest. He had originally intended to keep close tabs on Loki. But he had been so distracted by Golden-eyes and her reaction to Banner that he almost didn't notice the way she leaned into her prisoner as if she were drowning and he was the Good Ship Lollipop.

_Almost_ didn't notice.

And now he was standing in the middle of his favorite bar, with Loki the War Criminal not two feet from the Hulk, albeit not in rage monster form at the moment, and while he would love to be a fly on the wall for_ that_ titillating conversation, he chose to focus on the woman now standing alone on the veranda.

He was itching for some answers, and Loki wasn't going anywhere.

It was a hot and humid evening, for autumn. "Damn, it's warm for this time of year."

She turned and gave him a small smile. "I've missed that. Midgardian conversation filler and ice-breaker. If nothing else, we can always talk about the weather."

"Of course. So, how's Jotunheim this time of year, you ever been? Timeshare, maybe?"

"Are you never serious?" She'd asked the question with a smile and without any malice. Usually people who asked made it seem more like an order.

"Would it help?" Really, would it? He was very serious about _this_ question. People seemed to think that sticks up the ass made them do their jobs better. He was pretty sure it just made you look like you did your job with a stick up your ass. It's not like he'd ever failed to be successful. Well, okay, there was that drunken dark period where he seemed to think it would be really cool to pee in his suit in public, and then tell everyone, but in his defense he _had_ been dying at the time.

Golden-eyes seemed to be mulling it over. He liked that about her. She rolled with his punches. And she took notice of his odd flashes of serious contemplation, which tended to pass everyone else by. Usually because they were moving so fast. Well, he'd heard from Thor that she'd dealt with Loki for hundreds of years, guess that gave her an advantage.

She finally answered. "Probably not, in the end. But people like to be re-assured."

"I'm not here to re-assure people. I'm just here to save the cosmos from Armageddon. And make it look cooler than Bruce Willis did. People may want you to hold their hands, but, sunshine, style is what gets remembered. Hey, would you mind if I took a look at your breastplate?"

What, she wasn't wearing it at the moment. After they had decided on a break from the tense conversations in the conference room, both she and Thor had reverted to a more casual look. Now she had on a form-fitting and elaborately embroidered Asgardian tunic, in shades of chocolate brown and shimmering gold, that extended to the tops of her thighs. But he was pretty sure the slim, dark trousers she was wearing were jeans.

"I suppose. It's not enchanted though, not like Thor's. You think you can pimp it out with some lights? And maybe a flying mechanism?"

"Wait, you can't fly?" She shook her head, and he continued. "Yeah, but you've got that X-ray truth vision thing. You're like, Superman meets Wonder Woman. When I was a teen, I thought the Lasso of Truth was pretty sexy, with that bad-ass dominatrix but don't lie to your hot teacher vibe. Actually, still do."

Her eyes were twinkling. Man, if he _were_ able to feel shame, he'd definitely feel ashamed that he was so good at cheering people up, as this was a talent he was really letting go to waste.

He continued. "While we're on the topic of exposing the truth, that was quite a thing you did for that cop."

She seemed surprised that he knew about it, but she shouldn't have been. The story had been all over the news for months last year, during the heightened, sensationalized media storm that swept up the nation in the trial of the decade. A ruthlessly murdered family. A gritty, but ultimately innocent cop as the accused. And one up-and-coming lawyer stubbornly standing between him and the dogs.

"I guess I have a soft spot for the falsely accused."

He wasn't sure he wanted to dig deeper into _that_ topic. He felt a twinge of hesitation.

In the messy closet of human interaction, being overly sensitive was like the ill-fitting, too long pair of pants that made a person trip instead of strut. And Tony only wore perfectly tailored suits. Not to mention his general attitude was that the world would be a much better place if everyone were to take off _all_ the clothes of their principles and just enjoy the hot-tub of natural inclinations.

And so, as so often happened when Tony was presented with a window of opportunity, he took solace in his usual response of just chucking the biggest brick he could find at it.

"Thor mentioned that Loki committed some crime, stole some important artifact, and then set you up to take the fall. Total douche move. But hey, then Asgard made you his jailor, which is a pretty decent bit of karma. I feel safer, at least. Hell hath no fury and all."

She sent him a wan smile. "He stole Huthr. The Veil. It helped him hide from Heimdall's sight. I technically was supposed to be guarding it, but yeah, good ole 'Syn the Betrayer' has finally been vindicated." Her voice dripped sarcasm at the end.

"You guys have kick-ass titles for everything." He made a show of picking a piece of non-existent lint off his shoulder. "Thor also mentioned that it was you who had these visions of the end times. But he said it would be better to ask you about it, because you're like Nostradamus or something? Except with immortality and, you know, breasts."

She had the grace to blush. "It's a lot more different than that. They're not really _my_ visions, they belong to Vanir from long ago. My people have collected prophecies for millennia, stored in a great book we call the Window to the Worlds. Except it's not a book in the traditional sense. It doesn't have words. It's just…a window. To all possible futures. And thus it is difficult to fully understand what lies within."

"Then how can we be so sure about this end times scenario? And Loki's primo seat, front and center. That seems a little too convenient, if you ask me."

She nodded. "I know, right? But when things are aligned in such a way as to make one future more probable, the window opens…differently. Certain visions are more accessible, especially if one is looking for something specific. I was…well I was under the influence of the sceptre when Loki forced me to look into the Window. This was awhile before he made his attacks on Earth. Did Thor mention that?"

He sucked in his breath. "No he did not." A woman twice scorned. Well, betrayed, anyway. Damn. He almost felt sorry for their old adversary.

"Only one of the Vanir can look through the Window and see anything of value. I saw the destruction of worlds. And Loki demanded I look for anything that could stop it. We're still not sure why he wanted such information. He may claim to not want Ragnarok, but I've grown used to him being ten steps ahead and just when you think you can trust him..."

She bit off her sudden bout of bitterness with a sigh, before she continued her story in a calmer tone. "I saw worlds exploding in bursts of light that expanded across the cosmos, and at the center there was…well, _him_. Somehow Thanos plus Loki's soul means Ragnarok, and Loki plus Loki's soul means not Ragnarok. And it's really hard to get any more specific than that. At least right now. Sometimes Vanir prophecy is not so much seeing the future, but figuring out what the future means. Does that answer all of your questions," she teased, as if she understood how frustrating her answers could be, "or give you some food for thought?"

Yeah right. Food for thought, if you wanted to spend the next day curled up next to a bottle of antacids. Some of the information she was revealing was starting to give him brainburn. "These explosions of light. Did they look like supernovae?"

"I suppose, yes. Something like that."

The numbers he had studied from previous reports on the Tesseract flashed through his brain. And then those numbers twisted around in some incredibly exciting but slightly uncomfortable way with the tests they had run on the sceptre. And then, as if his mind was the fruit roll-up factory of combining thought flavors, the numbers swirled around with information he had researched on the topic of explosive energy events.

The thought combo gave him a burst of excitement, as intellectual epiphanies usually did.

But it also gave him a very, very bad feeling.

"I imagine exploding stars would be an effective way to destroy worlds." He was muttering under his breath now, talking more to himself than her. "I need to talk to Banner."

He started to turn away and excuse himself when the lights suddenly flickered.

"Jarvis, has Pepper been playing with the ambiance settings again?" She'd overloaded the system last week, trying to get them ready for a party.

Jarvis indicated a response in the negative, but he was no longer listening. Golden-eyes had gone pale. Her eyes were wide, with shock or horror he could not tell, and she had reached up to clutch at something that hung around her neck. He could see the whites of her knuckles, she was griping the object under her tunic so tightly. She brushed past him and headed back inside, towards Loki. He followed her.

Loki had an expression that looked as uncomfortable as hers. Tony wondered if he had left him alone with Banner for too long. The doctor's glasses had slipped even further down his nose and he was now peering over the top of them. Yeah, _real_ intimidating. If you didn't know his Other Half, you'd think the worst he could do is puppy-dog eye you to death.

Except Loki_ did_ know his Other Half, so he met Banner's eyes and mouthed _Did you do that?_ as he gestured to Loki's panicked expression.

Banner emphatically shook his head. Golden-eyes was now standing directly in front of Loki, who had reached out to grab her wrist and pull her hand from whatever she was clutching.

And then there was someone else there with them. Sort of. A hulking shadow in the darkness. Except it wasn't dark. The lights were all still on.

The shadow seemed to expand for a moment.

Then the moment expanded.

Except it didn't. It was over in a heartbeat.

And then they were gone. Both of them. And there was a sound left in the room that was like the moment after a scream. Had he heard a scream? He thought he might have heard thousands of screams. It was like the memory of sound was in his head, but he wasn't sure he had physically _heard_ actual sound at all.

He couldn't be certain of anything right now.

His eyes met Banner's again from across the empty space that had formerly been much less empty, and they looked as confused as he felt.

Tony was a proud man. People looked at Tony and saw a proud man. But people would probably be surprised at the actual things Tony was proud of. For example, Tony often preferred to be proud of the little things. Focusing on the small victories often enough helped him not get overwhelmed by the big things. And in this particular moment, he was _very_ proud of the fact that his voice was calm and collected and didn't betray even a hint of the brief burst of panic he was feeling.

"Jarvis, get Thor up here right now. We just lost his posse."

So much for assuming Loki wasn't going anywhere.


	3. The Wages of Sin

Disclaimer: Nothing from Marvel or _Thor_ or _Avengers_ is mine.

* * *

_**Stark Tower, Midgard.**_

* * *

Bruce usually enjoyed his talks with Tony Stark. At least he wasn't trying to poke him with sharp objects anymore. Or shock him. Apparently their recent battle against Loki and the Chitauri had taken care of Tony's curiosity about the Other Guy.

And he was enjoying his current conversation. Mostly. It's just that he'd never seen Tony Stark quite so _wired_.

Their debate about latent power potentials within the Tesseract, and its ability to enhance the mind shard to increase energy output, was now interrupted by near raving comments about the nature of the other magic shards supposedly scattered throughout the cosmos.

By Bruce's accounting, they'd had experience with two of the six shards. The mind shard he was most familiar with due to their previous work on the sceptre. And he'd seen a bit of what the space shard could do in the hands of Thanos, the evening before last.

Cross-dimensional instant travel to anywhere. That was pretty impressive.

Impressive enough for Tony to hound Thor relentlessly regarding the shards. He was now relating his newfound breadth of knowledge.

"A reality shard, Bruce. One of these things can alter reality." When he said "reality" for the second time, Tony added extra emphasis on each syllable so that it was like he was saying four words instead of just one.

"I dunno, Tony. I'm pretty happy with the laws of physics the way they are now. And I'm not sure I really want to contemplate a change in the laws of logic and reason. We've got enough of that to figure out as it is, with just the contents of this lab. Besides, your reality seems pretty nice. What would you want with a power source like that?"

Tony didn't even hesitate. "Bigger and perfect breasts, Banner, for all women. And then the world would kneel at my feet, I wouldn't even have to alter reality to get that one. Two birds, one shard. Why, what would you do?"

Bruce shook his head and laughed. The joking answer was so typical. He might have been offended, except he'd saved Tony's life once. A life that needed saving because it was almost sacrificed on behalf of humanity.

Tony could pretend all he cared about was philandering his way around the globe, and it certainly was a nice playboy image that the press loved to run with, but Bruce knew the truth.

He saw the way Tony looked at Pepper when he thought she wasn't looking. If only the media could capture it, they'd have a heyday if they ever found out.

Genius Billionaire Playboy Philanthropist Iron Man was nothing but a big softie, really.

A big softie with a manic look in his eyes. "Thor said there's a time shard too, somewhere out there. Time travel, Banner. Just think of all the things I could tell my younger self." Tony's eyes twinkled as he counted off his list. "Dad's safe password. Not to invest in airlines. Not to drink all that tequila in Cancun. What about you? Would you go back and do it different? Would you choose a life without the Other Guy?"

It was amazing how quickly Tony could shift gears from flippant to contemplative. It was hard to keep up sometimes. And hell yes, he'd live a life without the Other Guy. In a heartbeat. It was the only dream that kept the nightmares at bay.

So why was he hesitating in giving his answer?

Tony noticed. Of course he did. "I did tell you there was a reason for him. He saved you. And he saved me, too."

That was a pretty big Thank You, coming from Tony Stark.

Bruce smiled to himself and turned away to study the pieces of Asgardian armor that rested on a corner table, lost a bit in his thoughts for the moment. The armor was hers. Syn, of Asgard. The woman with the golden eyes. He could have sworn they had shimmered with some hidden fire, when she had looked at him. And she'd _seen_ him. Both sides. Together.

He wondered if she was still alive. Thor was adamant that Loki was taken against his will, but Bruce wasn't so sure. If it really was Thanos, it seemed more reasonable to assume that Loki was right back where he wanted to be.

Which left Syn as a sort of unfinished business. Was she valuable enough to keep alive? Certainly not as a prisoner of war. What he had learned about their enemy so far told him that any sort of diplomatic measures would likely never be a concern.

Tony was upset. He hadn't spoken much during that first evening, when they had all gathered again to get some sort of plan in order. There was also an argument, still ongoing, regarding if and when they should include Fury and SHIELD.

Personally, Bruce wondered if they might be getting in over their heads. But he also _really_ preferred living off the grid.

Tony hadn't seemed his usual self again until they had started work on the Tesseract and mind shard, the next morning. He had been angry about the breach in his security (_again_, he continuously pouted) but Bruce knew that he was also upset about the senseless loss of an ally.

Bruce picked up a gauntlet and studied the intricate runic engravings.

"Hey, meat-hooks off, Banner. I got dibsies on those."

_Not_ that Tony would ever let anyone see his upset.

Bruce smirked and picked up the breastplate, holding it over his chest. "I don't think it's really your size."

"You're right. Plus it does bring out your eyes. You keep it."

* * *

_**A crack between worlds. Dimension: Unknown.**_

* * *

Syn awoke to pain and darkness. She was sitting, barely, propped up like a discarded doll against a wall that was covered in sharp edges. A squinted glance took in four such sharply carved walls, but they did not join together in right-angles. The room actually looked to be more like a cave, and some sort of holes high on the ceiling let in a sliver of light. One wall had a metal door. She assumed it was some sort of metal, anyway. She couldn't quite see it properly, but she had extensive knowledge of cells and prisons from the movies she had delightfully devoured while on Earth, and so her mind seemed happy enough to fill in the blanks for her.

A cell door had to have metal or you weren't doing it right.

She closed her eyes again because there was nothing else to see, but this was a mistake, because her mind didn't seem to want to stop at filling in the blanks of the cell door and was now gleefully running away and filling in some quite horrifying blanks about what happened on the _other side_ of imposing metal cell doors.

She really shouldn't have watched all those horror films.

She swore she heard an occasional scream, and that wasn't helping. Neither was the disturbing soreness running rampant throughout her body, and the even more disturbing lack of memory. Pain is bad enough, but not knowing what caused the pain was the half a worm you found after biting into the proverbial apple.

She rather preferred finding the whole worm in her apple.

Actually she rather preferred peaches. They didn't have peaches in Asgard. She tried to remember what peaches tasted like in a desperate bid to get her panicked mind back under some semblance of control.

The sound of scraping thuds in the distance pulled her from her inopportune ranking of fruits and dropped her back to her pitiful situation.

Someone was coming.

Not just one someone, but several, if her counting of thuds could be trusted.

And there was another sound, the unmistakable sound of something heavy being dragged. The sounds were close, and then the shuffling stopped. There was nothing left but the uncomfortable absence of sound that made her heartbeat echo in her head like a jackhammer on crack.

It was so quiet she could hear her gasping breaths. She inhaled deeply and held it.

The door opened suddenly. It had no interest in any of her movie knowledge about heavy metal doors and, surprisingly, did not creak or crash or squeak.

Two cloaked figures appeared, dragging something behind them.

Someone.

She had a glimpse of gnarled hands with twisted flesh before they deposited their burden and simply left.

Now it was just her and her heartbeat and the body, curled up and facing her, in the center of the room.

The hair was bloodied and clumped over cheekbones bruised and swollen, eyes closed. But cleaned up she knew the hair would be sable, the cheekbones aristocratic, refined and pale, the eyes green.

He had been stripped of everything but loose-fitting leggings, and even though there was not much light in the room, his skin was so pale that she could easily make out additional injuries, already beginning to heal, peppering every inch of wherever she looked.

She wondered what sort of abilities these creatures had, that they could so easily harm him. Even without his magic, he was still Asgardian. Well, from the Asgardian dimension, anyway.

She sat with her back to the wall and stared at the limp form, trying to suppress a flicker of panic. There was a groan, signifying pain but also signifying life, and she let out a quick sigh of relief. She hated him, but she certainly didn't want him dead. He might be the biggest thorn in her side since she had reached maturity and had been shipped off to Asgard, but they had been adversaries for so long that they had somehow come out the other side to an odd place of familiarity.

And he hadn't really been an enemy. Not at first.

They were just fated to be opposed. She had been tasked with guarding doors. He was determined to break in. She had been tasked with keeping the secrets of Asgard. He was determined to ferret them out. She had been tasked with acting in a manner befitting the expectations of her Vanaheim heritage. This was more her mother's personal task than an official one, but still, he was determined to haunt her dreams and fantasies and turn her into a fool.

And she _had_ been a fool, where he was concerned.

Likely still was one. She realized, with a despondent sigh, that there wasn't anyone in _any_ of the realms who knew her as well as he did, weaknesses and all.

It was a sobering thought.

And a vicious reminder of how little she knew him in return. He was one of a very small number of beings that she could not read. She had tried her abilities on him, and he had always eluded her. She now wondered if not having a soul was part of why he was so elusive to her. Except she had known him to be unreadable like that for _centuries_. How long had he been in league with Thanos?

Her suspicions of him returned with a vengeance, but it couldn't completely wipe away her sympathy as she stared at his battered form. She was reminded of old times when she had felt lonely or homesick, and he had made her laugh with some bit of meaningless fluffy magic. And right now, he seemed to be a lot worse off than her.

She sighed. They might not exactly be friends, but he was certainly the closest thing she had to an ally in this forsaken place.

Her mind made up, she rolled to her side and leveraged herself closer with her arms. She didn't think she could stand up at the moment, and he wasn't that far away from her in the small cell. When she was finally stretched out across from him on the cold hard floor, she couldn't stop her start of surprise when his eyes opened suddenly and met her own.

They were close enough that she felt whispering was appropriate, although her choice of words might have been better prepared. But desperation made her revert to her usual attitude wherever Loki was concerned, which always included some sort of ludic sarcasm. "Those screams were _almost_ convincing. Was that you?"

"I have been practicing. And I must say, your concern for me warms the cockles of my heart." He, too, opted for a whisper, but the words came out labored and painful and without the dripping sarcasm she knew he likely wanted to convey.

"Heart cockles. I never figured you for such a romantic."

He snorted, then groaned. "When was your last date, _Sinclair_? You should not complain about the places I take you."

"I wouldn't dream of it. Is your arm supposed to bend like that?" His cuts were already healing, but bones took much longer to mend, Asgardian or not.

"A new trick I have been working on."

"Also convincing. Where are we?"

"Off the map, my darling. Here there be dragons."

That did not bode well. Her heart thudded in her chest. He usually only reserved endearments for when he was very snide, very angry or very upset.

"How about those space shards, huh. I guess we're guests of Thanos now?"

"I have not seen him yet. This relatively _minor_ beating is not really to his taste. Some of my old friends were excited to see me, in my current state. But Thanos is here, somewhere on this scrap of broken moon, do not fear. Due to your new penchant for enchanted jewelry, I have a feeling you might be meriting an introduction, sweet Syn."

Two endearments, back to back. She was now tempted to add 'very afraid' to the list. She only hesitated because fear wasn't an emotion she'd seen him wear very often, except when he was maybe faking it to manipulate her.

"I saw it in the shop window and I just had to have it." She whispered her reply, a half-hearted attempt to keep up their pretense at pithy conversation and trick her mind into thinking 'ho hum everyday regular stuff, nothing to see here' and not 'holy crap we're going to die.'

It wasn't really working.

She breathed in and tried not to panic. Before she'd been sent in exile to live as a mortal, about five years ago, she'd never really had to deal with the prospect of death. Asgardians were not completely immortal, mind you, it's just that death wasn't typically a concern for quite some time. Thinking about death before had always been like that moment where you realize you kind of maybe have to pee after you've just tucked in and gotten comfortable for the night.

It could be an annoyance, but usually you just passed out anyway.

Being a mortal had cured her of those cozy illusions. So now, in this place, the worry of death was a very real and insistent pressure on her insides that was demanding immediate release.

She thought of her home. Her Vanaheim home. The family she hadn't seen in centuries.

Her mother.

It hadn't been her choice to go to Asgard. It had certainly not been her choice to go to Midgard. And the events that led her to her current predicament were still a blur. Looking back she felt like her entire life had been nothing but a series of decisions made for her and events she could not control.

She found herself blinking rapidly and before she could stop the _horror_ of what was coming, she felt the hot tear slip loose to drip down the side of her face.

"Is that for me?" Of course he would notice. The damn tortured thorn in her side actually managed to sound satisfied in that moment.

She scoffed. "No."

"It is."

"It isn't." She gritted her teeth. "It is for my current inability to control the events of my own life. And it won't happen again."

He laughed. He actually had the nerve to _laugh_. She knew it had to hurt like hell but still he laughed at her. When he spoke she could hear his pain and amusement combined.

"Of the many, _many_ faults I have encountered in your nature, little guardian, and do not doubt that I have amassed quite a large accounting, I can say with deep and sure conviction that wallowing in self-pity is not among them. And you are _still_ a horrible liar."

"Like it's a bad thing." Really. He was so _vain_, sometimes.

"Well after all this time together, I might have thought something would rub off eventually. You are an affront to my talents."

She wanted to verbally slap him with an appropriate response, but she was losing energy fast. Her neck hurt most of all. She reached up to gingerly feel it out, but she winced in pain and pulled back her hand covered in blood.

"They tried to take it from you when we first arrived, but so far their efforts have been ineffective. They hit you on the head pretty hard. But not to worry. I do not think they have figured out that simply removing your head entirely might give them the result they so desire."

"The amulet?"

He didn't bother answering her obvious question. He just said simply, "You need to release my magic."

"I…what?" She hadn't realized that was an option.

She quickly debated the merits of the devil you know with the devil who carried Ragnarok in his wake and who, this was the important bit, _tortured on the other side of that allegedly metal door_.

There really was no contest.

She was about to pull the amulet off her neck, but he interrupted her.

"You have to use the key." He was giving her a very pointed look. That expression in his eyes that said _Idiot!_, so that his perfect mouth didn't have to.

She was staring at his mouth again. It had long been a habit she'd been trying in vain to break. Even bruised and battered and bereft of his soul, torn away from his magic, Loki of the silver tongue would never be powerless, not with a mouth like that.

She really needed to try to keep it together. "What key?"

"Odin did not give you the _key_?" His snort of derision must have been painful, because he ground out his next words with a disarming lack of his usual disdain. He just sounded tired. "Stupid guardian. You do not even know what it is you carry, do you?"

"It's the little trinket that holds your magical ability." She knew that being condescending or trivializing about his use of magic was a surefire way to needle him. She couldn't help herself. She hated it when he made her feel stupid.

And she had amassed quite a bit of pent-up resentment. It was starting to bubble over.

"It is a Seidr Tree, to be precise, and it does not _hold_ my magic. My magical abilities are my own, and _no one_ can take them from me." He had hissed out the words with such vehemence that he had to stop and take a breath before continuing, this time in a softer voice.

"What it does, is manipulate _access_ to magic, and this is exceedingly rare. It is forged from elements difficult to acquire and even more difficult to meld. The uru is imbued with sap from Yggdrasil. Since the World Tree is the energy source that binds the Nine Realms together, and magic is the art of learning how to manipulate the latent energy imbued thoughout the cosmos, the sap is a powerful channel to this energy."

"I know how Yggdrasil works." She sent him a baleful glare.

He returned it, before continuing. "A Seidr Tree can block one's access to magic through this channel, but it can also augment access, depending on the enchantment. Use of the Seidr Tree and its enchantments can be accessed only by means of a key, usually a magical phrase. Did Odin not give you knowledge of such a thing?"

She sighed in frustration. "No."

He just stared. They both did. Dirtied and blooded and lying on the cold, jagged floor. She wasn't sure for how long. Her perception of time was really funny at the moment.

And then he rolled on his back, and stared up instead.

"What, _precisely_, did the All-father say when he gave you this _trinket_, as you like to call it?"

"He told me to protect it. That when the time was right, and you were worthy, the magic would be returned. I guess I just assumed I'd be giving it back to him when all this was over, if we're still here and all, and then you'd be _his_ problem again."

She probably should have asked more about the amulet. But she had been restored as a citizen of Asgard only in recent months, during the short time that Loki had been warring with Earth. It had been a hectic period on Asgard too. There had been questions, and tribunals. They'd wanted to know everything that she knew about Loki's plans. Which, besides the prophecy, had been nothing. Over four years she had spent on Earth, piecing together a life from the scraps of her scattered self. Then the _reason for her exile_ had shown up at her doorstep, from out of the blue, and stole her away, sneaking her into Asgard to look through the Window. And then he had deserted her there without so much as a by your leave.

It had taken awhile to convince the Asgardian tribunal of the truth of these facts, but she had succeeded. She had been restored to Asgardian citizenship. In the meantime, Loki had been defeated by Thor and his comrades and returned home. There had been _more_ tribunals. Intense debates about the prophecy and how to handle a criminal who held claims to being a savior. At Thor's urging, a consultation with his new allies on Earth had been granted. She was ordered to accompany them, the amulet clasped around her neck mere moments before they departed. The All-father had given her the few details she'd just related to Loki, and sent her on her way.

And _still_, Loki knew more about it than she did.

It did make her feel a little stupid.

She couldn't fully admonish herself though, because Loki was too busy shouting.

Just not quite at her this time. At the ceiling.

"You must think you are SO clever! You and your _lessons_, do you really think you can humble me? Tame _me_, like that oafish son of yours! You cannot manipulate me as you manipulate Thor! You cannot. I won't _let _you. It is _mine_, all of it! I _will_ take it back, my own way!"

He was looking up and shouting the words with such force that some of the lesser healed wounds on his chest were re-opening and seeping blood over the palms of his hands. Syn felt another rush of panic, swelling and carrying away her confusion over whatever epiphany he seemed to be having.

"Loki, please! You'll attract attention."

She didn't understand what was making him so upset, but she had the distinct impression that Loki gaining use of his magic and whisking them out of this forsaken place was no longer a likely option. As he continued to rail at the heavens, her earlier comment proved to be prophetic. Someone was coming. Thuds in the distance, followed by the creepy silence of the door.

It wasn't gnarled hooded figures this time.

It was a huge beast of a creature. And that wasn't just a trick of perception because she was lying on the ground and the being was standing over her. It was _huge_.

Huge like what a Frost Giant would look like of one ever entered a body-builder competition. It was wearing dark armor, of a type she had never seen before, and a helmet, but everything just looked a few sizes too small. And it had a broad, jutting jaw like the slatted plow on the front car of a train.

She could tell, even in the faint light, that his skin was a shade of deep reddish-purple. It made her think of the pleasant eggplant shade she had used when she had re-decorated her bathroom.

She wondered if she was going insane or delirious, that she would think of such a trivial thought in the moment she assumed she was about to meet Thanos.


	4. A Gamble with Foes

Disclaimer: Nothing from Marvel or _Thor_ or _Avengers_ is mine.

* * *

_**A crack between worlds. Dimension: Unknown.**_

* * *

Loki had discovered, during his own past contact with Midgard, that its inhabitants had some rather interesting conceptions about souls, in addition to some very judgmental conceptions regarding being without one.

Usually these judgments had a lot to do with another interesting concept called religion.

Asgardians didn't have religion, not in the Midgardian sense anyway. Oh, they had things that were _sacred_, sure enough, in the reverential sense. It's just that religion seemed to require a certain amount of belief, and this was a bit of an alien concept for Asgardians. They found it difficult to merely believe in something existing when its existence was _right in front of them_. The energy of Yggdrasil, seeping throughout the world, could be touched. Manipulated. One could visit the Norns and speak of fate and future and destiny, and _know_ that what they spoke of would happen.

But Asgardians could still appreciate religion. Usually they appreciated the benefits, like gifts and praise and poems and willing women.

Loki, however, had always been more fascinated at how _wrong_ people could be, in religion.

He had seen rumors fly and shift throughout Asgard. Someone shared an innocent joke in the main hall and by the end of the day people where tittering in hushed whispers about an affair that never happened. Loki figured it must be something like that, except with more time in-between and perhaps imaginations gone wild under the influence of a mind-altering drug.

Take Sleipnir. Loki had desperately tried to save the young, dying foal with his even younger, burgeoning magic. He hadn't mastered the healing-growth spell yet. The horse had lived, of course, but there had been…complications.

And so he had ended up in a Midgardian poem _fathering_ an eight-legged horse. He could never quite wrap his rather formidable (if you asked him) mind around it, but like rumors, many divine myths seemed to pass through the Mind Sieve of Eroticism somewhere along the way.

Midgardians also had the mistaken idea that being soulless must be some indication of inherent evil. This was a different religion, to be sure, but Loki had studied many Midgardian belief systems. And this idea was as fickle as believing that horseshoes were lucky and a god could give birth to a horse twice as lucky as all the others.

Being soulless wasn't evil.

It wasn't good either, mind you.

It was just…nothing.

A hole. Never filled. Never sated.

And it had changed him.

It would have changed anyone.

And not necessarily for the better.

Loki was willing to compromise with Midgardian belief on this point only. Being soulless was not evil, but the process of being without a soul could certainly help one toe the line.

And for Loki, this process had been going on for a very long time. Even by Asgardian standards. His body was frailer now, without the strength of his magic to counter the weakness and sick misery.

_He will make you long for something as sweet as pain_.

Loki gazed up at the possessor of his soul and felt a shiver of foreboding. But not at the thought of pain. He had _lived_ pain for so long, he had come out the other side as empty as he had entered.

Pain held no terror for him, when the worst had already been done.

His foreboding was for the future, and not just his own.

When Thanos finally spoke, his voice was a hissing growl of sound. "You have something I would like."

He was looking at _her_.

"Did your minions not already try to take it, Thanos?"

He doubted Thanos was perceptive enough to mark the quiver in her voice, but she had become so easy for him to read, over the years. She also seemed to be under the impression that Thanos was referring to her "trinket." This bit of ignorance was likely the source of her false bravado.

She would find out soon, what he really wanted.

Thanos smiled. It was unpleasant to see. "You know who I am, little soul. I would like to know who you are. And why, when I came to claim his body, the trail of his soul led me to you."

By Yggdrasil, he would like to know that too. Syn clenched her jaw, and glared mutinously.

"I am no one of consequence, save for the fact that Loki and I have a special bond. Is it not said that hatred forms a link stronger than any chain?"

If he wasn't feeling so desperate, he might have had the urge to laugh at her flippancy. He had almost forgotten how refreshing she could be when she was cornered.

Thanos stared at her intently, before responding. "Your soul _burns_. You nurture hatred there, without thought of forgiveness. To forgive would set them free, and this you cannot do. _This_, little soul, I understand. You may have some use to me, now that your bond-mate has none."

Loki found offense at this dismissal of his talent. "There is still much I can offer, Thanos."

Thanos moved so quickly he did not have time to react, and he found himself shoved up against the wall, jagged rock at his back, a large hand squeezing around his neck. "We had a bargain, Laufeyson. You _failed_. I should dispose of you now."

The hand around his neck closed, and he thought he heard a distressed sound from his guardian. Before she could do anything stupid, he managed to gasp out a simple phrase.

"The Tesseract."

The grip loosened, and he rushed to continue. "I can still get you the Tesseract. You might be able to find and take _me_ with your shards, but getting to the Tesseract is still difficult for you, is it not?"

He shouldn't have taunted. The hand tightened again. "Your soul is dying, betrayer of the Jotnar. It has been too long under my thumb. With no magic to protect you, you are _weak_."

"I still have my mind, Thanos. Do not be so quick to dismiss the value of my plots."

"Your mind gives your plots more success than they are due. Have you not failed in the purpose I gave you? You will die soon, I think, and before you do, I will get the information I need. Your time of bargaining is_ over_."

The hand retreated and Loki felt himself sliding down the wall. Thanos had moved nearer to Syn.

"But your time of bargaining is just beginning. What is your life worth to you, Asgardian?" His eyes gleamed now, full of greed.

Loki watched her lift her jaw in a show of stubborn refusal that was achingly familiar. "I will not betray my people, if that's what you want."

"Information is not a commodity I require for my current purpose, as both of you are mistaken to think." He was stroking the shard that rested in his palm with his thumb, almost as if he didn't even realize what he was doing.

Syn's hand also moved in an unconscious gesture to reach up and clasp the amulet. Thanos sneered again, "You obsess over such trifling magic. You think that trinket can give me as much power as your soul?"

Comprehension dawned on her face. Along with suspicion. "You can't just take it?"

Thanos did not like reminders of his limits, and his voice was now tinged with anger, the hissing deeper and uncontrolled. "That is not how the shard works. A bargain must be struck, for a willing soul. And I prefer the willing souls. Your life for your soul, Asgardian. Choose, now."

Loki watched her face, and it was so easy to discern the pattern of her thoughts. Fear and panic, at first. Then a certain contemplation, followed by the stubborn determination he had encountered more times than he cared to remember.

Calm and collected. Full of easy strength and conviction. He knew she would choose death over the loss of her soul. It was the noble choice.

It was the choice of a guardian of Asgard.

And then she gave voice to her decision.

"Yes. You may have my soul. But I do not bargain for my life. I bargain for his. And his safe return to Asgard."

_No._

Had he said the words, or just thought them?

Thanos was likely not aware of the newly revealed prophecies regarding Ragnarok, as it had been a closely guarded secret among the Asgardian council, but he was clearly suspicious of his guardian's offer to sacrifice herself on behalf of him.

"His life has no more value to me. He will not be long of this world, and when he dies, he will become mine permanently. You change nothing with this bargain, and your own life will be forfeit. Why would you want such a trivial thing?"

"His life is not so trivial, not to those who tasked me with guarding him. My life would be the one without worth, should I fail."

"Asgardians have become bloodthirsty." His observation sounded almost admiring.

"Not Asgardians," she interjected, "Midgardians. They wish to punish him further, now that he has been stripped of his magic. It is part of the agreement between our people, in the wake of our recent contact. It is why you found us in their world."

Her bluff was clever. But Thanos was not a simple brute. Loki was tempted to sway the argument, but he could not yet decide which direction would be more to his taste. He was well and truly trapped. He did not want to die here, he was desperate to not die here, but he felt an odd, inexplicable tightening in his chest at the thought of _her_ dying here.

"What makes you think I wish there to be agreement between your people?" Thanos taunted.

"The peace will not be broken if they cannot avenge themselves upon Loki. They will simply punish me in his place."

Thanos laughed, a horrible choke of sound. "You fear what they will do to you, more than what I can do? And know this. Death is not an escape, if that is what you hope. Your soul will feed the shard. You will not go to Valhalla. Or any Asgardian realm of the dead."

"I do not fear death. Or pain. I fear the failure that will sully my name. I would rather die here."

She was brilliant, seeping pride and misplaced honor like that self-righteous, idiotic Thor. Loki would have felt a sliver of admiration at her play, if he wasn't so aware of the consequences.

He knew her little gamble had born fruit as soon as the sneer of delight crossed Thanos' face. "Asgardian honor. It is so noble. And so meaningless. It will not matter what your people say of your name, in the end. As it did not matter what my people said of me. But I will accept this offer. Your soul, for his life. Do you agree to this bargain?"

She answered quickly, desperately, likely before she could regret it. "Yes. I agree to this bargain."

How _dare_ she? "Fool. Stupid guardian." His words were a hissing whisper. He couldn't seem to stop himself from taunting her. But the familiarity of the act, along with its finality, made him sound desperate instead of disdainful.

She was choosing survival of the world over survival of self, in her mind. And there wasn't a silver tongue in the world that would be able to talk them out of this mess now.

Loki had never, in all his long years of manipulating himself out of desperate scenarios, felt as furiously impotent as in that moment.

* * *

Syn felt herself standing on the precipice, about to fall headlong into the deep, twisting pit of hysteria.

Her quick math had been simple enough. She figured her life wouldn't matter in the wake of Ragnarok, and as much as she hated it, salvation depended on Loki.

She just wished, in a desperate sort of way, that the prophecy could have been a _little_ bit more clear on all that.

Either way, she had made a terrifying gamble. It would be her last act.

She was going to die a gambler.

She had always assumed a person with a gambling problem was someone who gambled all the time, and lost their livelihood slowly. But she had only gambled once, and she had won, but only to lose everything. She wasn't sure if that made her a good gambler or a sucker, but she was quite certain it still meant she had a problem.

"Bring her." As soon as Thanos snapped the order, two hooded figures appeared in the door. They must have been waiting just outside, like creepy voyeurs.

She steeled herself, her attention diverted to Thanos as their clawed hands started to drag her forward. "How do I know you will keep your end of the deal?"

It was a desperate bid to stall, and an obvious one, so she was surprised when he answered. "It is the way of the shard."

How vague and unhelpful. Vanir prophecy had nothing on Thanos. She was going to demand an elaboration, but he was staring at a green, glowing object he held cradled in his palm, and the expression on his face made her shiver.

It was almost...loving.

Then he looked at Loki.

And his orders changed.

"Wait. Leave her here. I want him to watch. It pleases me. I will take your soul now. Then I will return him, a_fter_ we have a discussion. Later, I will decide what to do with your life. And this is all I will give you, Asgardian."

The way he had said 'discussion' made her decidedly uncomfortable. He had said the word clear enough, but somehow it drove through the neighborhood of her head more like another word that started with a 'T,' took a solid right turn at a street labeled 'pain,' and ended up at '-orture.'

She had the sudden realization that she should have gambled with a bit more specificity.

Thanos gave a nod and one of the creatures hauled Loki to his knees. She was surprised when it was Thanos himself who did the deed on her behalf, clutching her upper arm and dragging her so that she was situated directly across from her old tormentor.

They were both kneeling in the puddle of his blood. She felt it seeping into the fabric of her jeans. If she were looking at this scene from somewhere else, anywhere else, she might have thought it rather symbolic, in a morbidly poetic sort of way.

Loki was staring at her. There was fury in his expression, and something else that she could not quite name.

She wondered what bargain he had struck with Thanos.

She wondered if losing your soul was painful.

Loki opened his mouth as if to speak, but then his attention was diverted away from her face to a spot below her chin.

And then she wondered what he saw coming, that his eyes would widen so.

She was surprised when he reached out and grabbed her wrist.

It must be time.

She immediately closed her own eyes and tried to think of home. If these were to be her last moments, in this rotting cell on an unknown world, kneeling in the blood of the lying, manipulating, betraying man who put her there, she was damn sure going to do it with something pleasant on her mind.

_Home._

She felt a heated swelling in her chest and wondered if this was the loss of her soul. It was, surprisingly, not as painful as she might have expected, and her focus on home was clarified in a flaring of light that she could see in white spots on the back of her closed eyelids.

She could almost feel grass underneath her knees, not blood, and there was the sweet smell of Vanaheim linden in the air, like lilacs and apples, warmed by the summer sun.

And then the throbbing heat in her chest grew in intensity, and expanded. She felt warm all over.

Warmth in her limbs. Warmth crawling up around her neck to soothe away the dull remnants of pain.

Was this it, the feeling of having no soul?

It wasn't so bad.

Curiosity kicked in, like a demanding child that refused to be ignored, and she opened her eyes before she could stop herself.

* * *

_**Stark Tower, Midgard.**_

* * *

Steve watched the last punching bag slide across the opulent gym and land against the opposite wall with a satisfying thud.

He'd been going through bags faster than Tony could re-supply, and he almost felt a twinge of guilt. Except Tony always made a show of putting the first bag up for him, while complaining that he wasn't even getting any tax breaks for helping the elderly.

Steve grinned to himself. He was getting used to Tony's joking demeanor. He started to unwind the tape from his hand when he heard Thor's voice. "You have defeated all of them again, my friend. Perhaps you wish to spar with a more mobile opponent?"

Steve responded with a shake of his head. Not that he didn't enjoy his occasional sparring with Thor, but he had too much on his mind at the moment. "Have Tony and Bruce made any more progress?"

Protecting the Tesseract and the shard was their foremost responsibility. Thor had explained that the dimensional shift between Earth and Asgard resulted in different applications of the Tesseract. The science of Earth, at least currently, could only scratch at the surface of what the cube could do in a place such as Asgard.

And so it was another source of potential dissent between them. Thor thought they could make better progress by working together in Asgard, but Tony and Bruce refused to hand back the cube until they developed a suitable defense for Earth.

It put Steve in a difficult position.

Hence the steady stream of punching bags.

Thor responded, "Bruce and Tony have calculated that the combined energy of multiple shards, and the Tesseract, could explode many stars. Perhaps even all of them. As for defense precautions, they are making progress."

"Wait, _all_ of the stars?"

"These are powerful relics, my friend. This is why we must focus our efforts on retrieving the remaining shards, before Thanos can get to them."

It was frustrating, fighting this hidden enemy.

"Is there any way to find Thanos?"

"Heimdall has tried, but to no avail. It is my hope that he may be able to see Syn or Loki, and that will give us a trail."

Or perhaps they were too far gone to be seen by anyone. Steve did not voice these doubts aloud. Despite Loki's previous role as the enemy, Thor still thought of him as a brother, and his anguish the night they had been taken had been palpable.

Steve asked instead, "Could we bait him?"

"Perhaps. But I would be hesitant to risk the Tesseract, or any of the shards. It must be a carefully laid trap."

Steve nodded. Careful planning would keep him busy.

"What about the rest of the shards? Do we have any leads on those?"

"Odin is seeking out this information. Knowledge of the shards has been shrouded in the mists of the past. Yet this is the Allfather's strength. Have you yet heard the tale of how the shards came into existence?"

Steve shook his head and Thor continued.

"It is said that long ago, before there was Asgard or Midgard or any of the Nine realms, all of the potential in the universe existed in the form of one great, sentient, primordial entity. This being could not bear to be so alone in the cosmos, and so he ended his own existence, dissolving his essence into six shards and scattering them across the newly-made creation."

"And you believe this story? That the world and the shards are all parts of an old, dead being?"

"These stories have truth, even if the truth can only be found beneath the surface. And all Asgardians are familiar with the living energy in the cosmos, nurtured by what we call the World Tree. It binds all of our worlds together. It binds all of existence together. If one can tap into this energy in just the right way, then one can find the shards."

"And your...uh, the Allfather can do this?"

Thor continued, but he was staring off into the distance and seemed to be talking more to himself than anyone else. "I hope he can. There is another part of the story. Some say that this first death, this sacrifice, is woven into the fabric of existence. That another such sacrifice will be needed to keep the energy of creation going, to prevent Ragnarok."

The sentiment of one dying for all was a noble one. And it was a sentiment that Steve was intimately familiar with, since he had made that sacrifice before.

Thor met his gaze again with an intent stare. "Would you do it?"

He didn't hesitate in giving his answer. "Of course."

This was met with a broad smile and a hand on his shoulder. "As would I. You are a good man, my friend. Let us hope that such a sacrifice will not be necessary."

* * *

_**Ydalir.**_

* * *

Syn opened her eyes, knowing it would be a mistake.

And she had been right.

Her brief moment of peace was shattered. And in its place pain came crashing back with a vengeance.

She blinked and tried to swallow past the lump in her throat.

Perhaps she had been duped. Perhaps she had been killed, and now she was in hell.

She was lying down now, and she tried to sit up, but only managed a gasp. Her chest was still aching. She made do with turning her head to the side.

There were no burning pits of fire, like she might have expected, and not a karaoke bar in sight, one of her greatest terrors.

She shook her head and corrected herself. That was Midgard stuff. Hel for Asgardians was a region of the dead, to be sure, but it was not a land of fire and brimstone.

She blinked her eyes again and realized that she was lying in a small clearing surrounded by flowering linden trees and sturdy yews.

It rather reminded her of Ydalir, on the far coast of Vanaheim.

She had played in these forests as a child.

_Home._

There was a vibration under her ear. Something was moving, and the earth moved with it.

She carefully turned her head to face the opposite direction, her right cheek now flattening the grass beneath her, and saw a pair of legs in her direct line of vision. The legs moved swiftly out of her line of vision, but her head was too muddled to put any effort into following them.

The legs came back, going the other way.

Someone was pacing.

Someone was muttering. She could barely make out the low flood of whispered words. Then there was a sudden pop in her ears, and sound came rushing back with a wicked vengeance.

Someone was not muttering.

Someone was yelling.

And now all she could hear was the yelling.

"…Father who is not mine, do you think you can humble _me_, Loki son of _Laufey_, by leaving me with _nothing_ of myself? Am I to have _nothing_? Scraps of existence, for all my eternity. Is _that_ my worth? Is that what you deem me? This will not end well. I will reclaim what is rightfully _mine_, if I have to tear it from her chest with my bare hands. Do not think you can teach me lessons now!"

It was too much. She groaned. There was respite from the sound, and then the legs in the distance started to get bigger. Bigger and bigger until the toes were a whisper's breadth from her nose in the grass. She lifted her gaze up past a pair of long, dirty legs and lean torso, to finally meet a pair of seething green eyes.

There was dried blood and dirt caked on his face, yet most of the bruises looked to be gone. His right arm still hung funny at his side, although he wasn't acting like he was in any pain. She wondered if the crazy helped. He looked wild in that moment. Eyes rolling. Panting. Teeth bared like a cornered animal.

He spoke, and it was his same sneering voice again. "You like to make claims of belonging to your precious Midgard, but you were not thinking of Earth in those last moments, were you? You've brought us to Vanaheim, you fool." He spit out the words with disdain.

It seemed he was his old self again.

"And cease this rolling around and groaning. Heal yourself and be done with it, _witch_." He added the last part almost as an afterthought.

She tried to make sense of his words. She had brought them nowhere, she was sure of it. She hadn't done anything, except ready herself for death. On _his_ behalf, the ungrateful wretch. And she was damn sure he knew that healing was not among her gifts. How off the charts bonkers was he right now?

"I'm pretty sure I can't." She somehow managed to croak out the words.

"You _can_," he hissed. "I thought it hindered _my_ access to magic, but apparently it also gives _you_ access to magic."

_The Seidr Tree._

Comprehension was sudden, but fleeting.

All beings born of the Asgardian dimension had some affinity to the magical energy generated by the World Tree. Some had stronger connections, like those of the Vanir gifted with sight, or those of Alfheim gifted with repositories of healing energy. Yet it took deep and involved training to learn how to channel and gain power over magical energy for ends other than prophecy and healing.

It was quite the joke among the high Aesir that it had taken Thor a century of his own before he could conjure enough healing energy just to mend himself.

Not that anyone joked about it in Thor's presence. Not if they wanted to keep their own present.

The kind of mastery that Loki channeled had taken many centuries of study and sacrifice, and no other had ever accomplished the breadth of talent he was known to possess.

To bring them both to Vanaheim, this was a powerful channeling. It should be impossible for her. She did not know _how_.

There must be something he was not telling her. There always was.

So she asked.

"How?" It was another croak of pitiful sound, but it was nothing compared to the sound he made in response.

He squeaked.

Sort of.

It was more like the sound of someone sucking in too much air too fast.

He did not seem to be taking this turn of events very well.

And then he turned on his heel and stalked away.

She watched him get smaller, and fade into the distance.

She should probably get up and chase him down.

She closed her eyes instead, and inhaled the scent of linden. The white flower from the trees carpeted the clearing in a beautiful cascade of shimmering silk blossoms.

_Home._

A rest would be nice. She would find Loki again soon enough. How far could he go?

After all, this was _her_ turf now.

She drifted off to the familiar cry of a falcon in the distance.


	5. A Bloom of Magic

Disclaimer: Nothing from Marvel or _Thor_ or _Avengers_ is mine.

* * *

_**Ydalir, Vanaheim.**_

* * *

Syn awoke feeling well and refreshed. Then memory triggered a small burst of panic that hotwired her brain into overdrive. She sat up abruptly in the grass.

_Loki._

"Finally, someone has deigned to join us in the realm of the awake. How heartwarming to know that Ragnarok is not making us all lose sleep at night."

Her relief was so great she almost trembled with it. She turned toward the sound of his voice and saw that he was sitting with his back to a tree, about five feet to her immediate right, his legs extended out in front of him.

Despite the familiar teasing sneer she heard in his voice, he actually looked…not himself.

His vivid green eyes, which she had often enough seen shining with blistering fury or haughty disdain, were now dull and listless. His skin, usually as pale as her own, but in an aristocratic and polished sort of way, seemed sallow and wan. His mouth, so often quirked up in jaded amusement or a cynical sneer, was pulled tight in a sullen line.

Somehow the entire effect made him look vulnerable. Concern washed over her. Then horrified anger gave the back of her mind a swift spank of reminder.

_I can still get you the Tesseract._

He would have betrayed them to Thanos yet again. He would always place his own interests above anything else. Yet still, she asked. "Are you allright?"

"Of course. If it wasn't for the approach of Ragnarok and the imminent threat of Thanos' return, I could almost enjoy the Vanaheim dawn with as much ease as yourself."

Alarm washed over her, and banished her concern to go stand with its naughty nose in the corner of her thoughts. "How soon can he find us here?"

"It is difficult to say. I do not think he was able to find me while I was in Asgard. A connection to my magic may make my trail more visible. Perhaps the latent energy of the Seidr Tree enhanced it, once it was passed to you.

She paled. "Then we should give it back to the All-father. We must travel to Asgard immediately."

"I wonder if we will last long enough to complete such a journey."

It could have been an honest observation or he could have been taunting her into a panic. It was always difficult to tell with him, and honesty was never his first preference.

"Is it possible to hide it somehow?" She reached up to remove it, and it was then that she realized it was already gone. "What have you done with it?"

"Me? You think that I, without my connections to magic, could remove such an artifact, once it has been enchanted so powerfully?"

He sat there looking like butter wouldn't melt in his mouth. It was a look that she was so very familiar with. He was _toying_ with her. He knew something, and he was dangling it just out of her reach. It was his favorite game.

"Where is it?"

"You're wearing it."

It was too much. She hated it when he made her an easy target. She felt the heat of anger swell in her blood, and she snapped, "I'm not!"

His haunted eyes flickered with amusement, but under his words she heard the ring of bitter resentment. "You are. It has bloomed. And I should compliment you on your new look."

He was now staring pointedly at a spot on her chest, below her chin. But not far enough down to be a leer at her breasts. She looked down in confusion to follow his gaze.

Oh.

_Oh my._

Her high-necked tunic had been ripped in several places, but one large slash near her neckline caused the fabric to fall open and reveal the upper part of her chest. The Seidr Tree was gone. In a sense. She was technically no longer wearing the amulet. In its place there was an intricate detailing of Yggdrasil etched in a small circle, where the amulet used to lie against her skin, like some sort of tattoo. Except it wasn't ink there, but a tangle of delicate strands of light glowing beneath the surface of her skin.

The branches and leaves curved down and the roots curved upward, so that the outer edges made a circle, about the size of a golf ball. She had never played the game while on Earth, but she was familiar with the common practice of using the golf ball as a size indicator of other circular and usually distasteful objects like hail or tumors or…weird unwanted tattoos.

"What the hell is that?" She gave in to the urge and tried frantically rubbing at the image, but it was definitely not going anywhere. This was so her luck. Waking up with a tattoo she didn't want, and she hadn't even been able to get drunk first.

He gave her a long suffering sigh. "It is a Seidr Tree. I'm quite sure we've had this conversation already. Must you always speak like some oafish Earthling?"

She glared at him through a lock of curls that had fallen over her eyes. "Put it on my list of faults."

And then she sat in mutinous silence, steeping in her own frustration. He took a moment to shift his legs and make himself more comfortable against the tree, before finally giving her a better answer.

"You have unlocked it, Syn. You have an open channel to magical energy now. Likely even more so than I did, when I was at my full strength. It should have been mine."

She expected him to sound angry, as he had before, but he only sounded defeated. And he almost never used her name unless it was accompanied by a patronizing endearment or belittling epithet. Somehow, it all made her feel like she was the bad guy, stealing away something precious that wasn't hers to take.

She spoke defensively. "I don't understand. I didn't have the key. How did this happen?"

"Your little self-sacrificing offer to save me. It was a unique key, I can admit. Odin is fond of such displays of his self-righteousness. Are you _certain_ you did not know about this key? You seemed_ so_ willing to offer yourself up on my behalf. It was quite a brilliant performance. Even I was caught up in it."

His face had gone hard again, and he no longer looked weak or vulnerable. Accusation was heavy in his tone, and she felt the urge to protest her innocence, despite knowing it wouldn't matter. "I don't even want it."

"I do not want you to have it, guardian. It is a rare gift, one that you do not deserve. Pure cosmic energy. The sap of Yggdrasil. It is a gateway that allows access to many things. I know only of one other in all of Asgard, with such a mark as that."

She lifted a questioning brow, but he only sent her a mocking smile, the one that said he was going to give her an answer, and it would only bring more questions in its wake. "I am certain you will find out soon enough. If we survive this."

She decided to drop it as her mind shifted elsewhere. There were more important things to worry about. "Can I…how do I get rid of it?"

"You do not _get rid of it_." He spat out her phrase like it was poison. "You _use_ it, and you get us out of here."

He made it sound so easy. Like she was in some Earth fairy tale, and could simply wish herself away on a star. "I don't know _how_, Loki. I don't even know what I did before, and I'm not sure an encore is possible."

He scowled and shut his eyes, before leaning his head back against the tree and muttering, "What a waste, that you should be gifted with such power. What good are you?"

She sighed in exasperation, but she still enjoyed watching him shift upright, horror dawning across his face at her next suggestion.

"You'll just have to teach me."

* * *

_**Stark Tower, Midgard.**_

* * *

Clint Barton considered himself a simple man. He had little needs and simple tastes and was content enough with simple pleasures.

Whenever he could find them. His life, so far, had been rather limited in that respect.

Simple tastes or not, he could appreciate the opulence that surrounded him. His new accommodations in Stark Tower were magnificent.

He leaned back on the couch in his sitting room, which was bigger than his own living room, and took a sip from the concoction Tony had whipped up. The liquor burned a hot trail down the back of his throat and curled in his belly like a snake.

Tony did not have simple tastes. He did, however, have a tendency to over-whip, when it came to beverages of the alcoholic persuasion. Clint wondered if this was the same stuff Tony used to clean his metal suit. He doubted there were any non-alcoholic ingredients in his cup.

He stole a glance at Natasha standing across the room, in front of the window that graced the far wall and gave them a breath-taking view of the city. She had confiscated his recurve bow and was practicing her shots at the target he had set up across the spacious room, to his right.

He watched her as she slotted one of his custom augmented arrows and pulled back her arm so that her right hand steadied just behind her ear.

It was a perfect anchor position.

It would have to be, he thought to himself with pride, as he had taught it to her.

From his viewpoint, the bow-string framed in profile the curve of her full, soft lips. She let the arrow fly, but he observed with a critical eye that her follow-through with her bow arm was shallow.

He heard the thud as the arrow hit the target. The shot would have been an effective one, yet he didn't even need to look at it to know she had missed whatever precise mark she was aiming for. He only had to look at Natasha. He saw the barest hint of a rosy flush on her cheek, and a quickly exhaled huff of air.

She was not happy with her shot. She slotted another arrow and lifted the bow again.

Anyone who knew of his affection for this dangerous and effectively lethal spy would definitely not judge Clint Barton a simple man.

But based on what he said next, they would probably judge him either a very brave, or a very stupid man. "You have a nice stance, honey, but if you don't follow through you'll just keep hitting low."

She turned in one smooth, fluid motion, aiming the tip of the arrow to a spot just above his heart.

"What did we discuss about endearments?" Her eyes flashed, and her lips were set in a determined line.

He held back a laugh. He loved that look. He couldn't help it, he was crazy about her.

Well, he'd have to be.

"That you love the way they remind you of how we've gotten through a lot of tough shit together?"

Her eyes narrowed, but her aim never wavered. He stood up and shortened the distance between them with a few long strides, until the tip of the arrow became a dangerous caress against his chest. "You want some help with that?"

"I can hit what I'm aiming for now," she said sweetly. Too sweetly.

"I think you've already hit this target." He held up his hands in mock surrender. "You wanna point that thing somewhere else?"

Her lips twitched in the barest hint of a smile, before she turned to face the target again. He stepped behind her and put his arm around her waist to pull her into the curve of his embrace, but she was stiff and resisting against him.

"Are you here to help me or distract me?" If her tone had a flavor now, it would taste like vinegar.

He touched his mouth to the shell of her ear and felt the softness of her skin against his lips. "It's not the same when you don't have any distractions."

She tilted her head away from him and nodded to the far corner of the room. "You can distract me from over there."

It was rare for Natasha to allow herself a moment of relaxed affection. It was something that Clint could understand. They were much the same. He had been an orphan too. Abandoned. Alone. He knew how the hunger could gnaw at you, and not just the physical kind. They'd both done things, in the name of survival. They'd both grown up too fast in places where trust would only get you killed. Or worse.

The trust that they had in each other had not been easy to establish, especially since they had met while walking the path of mutual betrayal. Their trust for each other, in the aftermath, was still a potentially fragile thing. And now here they were, living short-term in a place owned by someone who had been willing to die for them, expected to trust, and be trusted by, a larger group. It was making Natasha decidedly antsy, and all the progress they had made in the past weeks was slipping through his fingers.

He might have been tempted to hold back too, considering his past, but recent events had changed him. It made him a bit angry to think he might have Loki to thank for it, but spending time with someone else making all the choices for his mind had made him realize just how much other people had been making his choices for far too long.

Natasha was stubborn, but he was a marksman, and marksmen were patient men.

He sighed into her neck at the spot where it met her shoulder. "I like it right here, and I promise no more endearments, Natalia."

At his use of her given name she lowered the bow, hesitated for a moment that felt to him like an eternity, and finally leaned back into his embrace. He felt the sweet sting of desire at her brief moment of submission, as they were all too rare.

He was not prepared for the sudden change of course in their conversation.

"What are we going to do about Fury?"

It was just so her. She couldn't even relax properly, without thinking about the job.

He let his chin rest on her shoulder as he thought about the question. Steve had delegated to them the decision to contact SHIELD, claiming that Clint and Natasha had the best knowledge of the inner workings of the organization, and would make the right decision.

Steve _trusted_ them to make the right decision, and despite some personal discomfort that he shared with Banner on the issue, Clint was nothing if not a practical man. "They would be a valuable asset on Earth if the Tesseract is taken back to Asgard. And they're pretty tricky. They might have some interesting feedback on baiting Thanos out of hiding."

Her response was instant, telling him that she had already come to the same conclusion.

"Agreed. I'll contact Fury tonight. The doctor said they were getting close to a breakthrough with the shard. I suppose we can all go to Asgard if SHIELD decides to get _too_ tricky."

"But then you'll miss all your favorite things on this planet. What if you only get to take one bag? I don't think they make bullets in Asgard."

She let out an indelicate snort, and pulled from his embrace. When she looked up at him, her eyes were wide and serious. "What have we gotten ourselves into this time?"

He threw a glance over his shoulder at the opulence that surrounded them. "I dunno, but it's a damn sight nicer than Budapest."

* * *

_**Ydalir, Vanaheim.**_

* * *

It defied all the proper laws of gravity, in any known dimension, and Syn couldn't seem to stop staring at it.

She was standing in the center of the clearing, across from Loki, who had reluctantly agreed to help her channel her newfound connection to magic.

And she was desperately trying not to focus too closely at the sight in front of her.

She was failing.

It really shouldn't have been possible.

Her mind had been too distracted earlier to pay attention to his clothing, and most importantly, his lack of it. Fickle parts of her that had nothing to do with her rational mind were now paying _rapt_ attention to the fact that this was the first time she had ever seen him in something that did not cover every inch of his lithe form from his neck to his wrists to his feet.

Now he wore nothing but a thin pair of ripped pants that clung dangerously low on his narrow hips. _Impossibly_ low. The sight was doing a number on her quickly deteriorating mind, and that number was one. One whisper of a too strong breeze, one sudden shift of his hips, and surely he would become more than a little sartorially challenged.

Maybe he had been tricking her all along, and he really did have the use of his magic.

Magic was the only logical explanation she could come up with for those pants, and only on Earth would that statement be considered paradoxical.

She dragged her eyes upward and tried to pull her wandering mind along, like a recalcitrant dog, before it did something messy on the internal lawn of her head. But her widened gaze only met his chiseled abdomen, and then his chest, and this wasn't really helping either.

She had never seen so much of his skin before.

Not in person, that is.

Her imagination had certainly taken a few inventive liberties, back when she had been a foolish young woman. But she was no longer so naïve, and Loki was no longer simply the younger prince of Asgard with a penchant for mischief and getting her into trouble.

She was mentally chastising herself for her current foolishness, rather harshly, when he lifted a hand between them to trace a finger down the edge of the rip in her tunic, before flipping the fabric open to expose the mark on her chest.

He did it without even touching her skin, yet she couldn't stop her indrawn breath at the sudden invasion, nor could she stop herself from raising her arm to slap his hand away. With almost blinding speed he caught her wrist in a steely grip before she could raise it higher than her chest. His show of strength contrasted with the weariness he had shown earlier, and she was again reminded of how changeable he could be.

And how manipulative.

The sardonic glitter in his eyes mocked her as if he knew exactly how uncomfortable his closeness made her. Then his gaze turned predatory, and the air between them crackled with threat.

He spoke in a silky tone that did nothing to soothe her. "Ah, _little soul_, still so suspicious. Would it not be wise for us to start trusting one another?"

_There is still much I can offer, Thanos_.

He reminded her of the enemy, in the same breath he asked for trust. "I don't think I'm ready for that step in our relationship yet."

"Well I suppose I can go sit down and relax then, while you get us to Asgard all by yourself."

The sneer in his tone was at odds with his now relaxed grip on her wrist. She felt his thumb graze across her madly fluttering pulse, almost as a caress, and she pulled her arm away.

"I'm not even sure I can do this at all, with or without your help."

He let out a frustrated sigh. "Tapping into the universal energy is the most difficult part. But that work has already been done for you, _lucky_ girl. Now you must learn to channel it in ways different from what you are accustomed. You have done it once already. Now be _still_, and pay attention."

He lifted his hand up between them again, slowly, as if she were a wild animal about to flee, but this time she did not stop him. He did nothing but touch his finger to the mark.

He was staring at her intently. "Can you feel it? Here. The energy."

Heat radiated from the spot on her chest, and it spread in a languid warmth throughout her limbs. Her cheeks flushed and she drew in a sharp breath at the sudden sting of awareness, unsure if it was magic she was feeling, or something decidedly less of the spiritual and more of the carnal.

She opted on simply nodding a response.

"Close your eyes."

Despite her instincts screaming at her to do otherwise, she obeyed. Closing off her vision only made her other senses kick into overdrive. She heard the whisper of air as he drew breath, an even steady rhythm that only served to put in stark relief the rapid flutter of her own fickle heart.

His voice, when he spoke, felt closer to her ear than it should have, but she kept her eyes closed and concentrated on his words. "Allow your focus to rest on the energy that you use for your Vanir sight. Seek it out. It should feel familiar to your senses."

She stretched out her consciousness to the innate energy that she had always been attuned to, except it wasn't familiar anymore. She was met with what she could only describe as a powerful mass of energy, tangled and gnarled in the back of her awareness, like a string of Christmas lights left in storage for a year. Untangling them had become an Earth tradition for her that she was rather fond of, but she didn't think separating the energy would be as simple. Especially since it seemed to expand with her own perception of it, and she felt it encroaching at the edges of her mind.

Her breathing heightened in response, and for once Loki chose re-assurance instead of mockery. "Relax, guardian. It is a potent source. You must learn to separate the energy you need for any particular spell, so that you can channel it for use. Seek out what is familiar, and it will answer your call."

She allowed her consciousness to relax again and focused on the twisted coils of energy and light swirling ever closer at the back of her mind. She picked her way through the glimmering spirals, and with her increased confidence she noticed the coils untwisting before her. She reached out to an energy source that felt instinctively familiar, and she knew she could use her gift again, with this magic.

She felt a flash of triumph. "I've found it."

"Good. Now let us try something new. Something simple. A healing energy. Let your mind focus on this effect, let your consciousness call out to it in the same way."

The soft, raspy timbre of his voice was soothing. She repeated her earlier actions with newfound focus, sending her mind through the coils of energy. She could find the familiar intensity of her sight with ease now, but manipulating the remaining energy was difficult. Her earlier confidence dwindled, and it seemed the harder she concentrated on the unfamiliar strands, the more they twisted and tightened away from the grasp of her mind. When she tried to force the issue, her head began to throb, and it felt as if her blood was heating under the pressure.

The feeling increased until, in the space of a heartbeat, it became overwhelming. She felt as if all of her nerve endings were on fire, and she opened her eyes and stepped back in alarm. It was then that she realized she was breathing heavily and covered in a thin film of sweat. She could feel the fabric of her tunic sticking to her back.

"I can't do it." She gasped out the words in frustration.

Loki stood in front of her. She watched him as he took a deep breath through his nose. His aristocratic nostrils flared, and his expression quickly turned to one of anger. She tried to slow her breathing to reassure him she would try again, but he did not give her a chance to say anything further.

"You are utterly inept. Even a simple brute such as Thor can manage a healing. Perhaps the energy finds you distasteful. They say it has a consciousness of its own, you know, and it has rejected many. You do not deserve it. It should have been _mine_. If we fail to return, if we are re-taken by the enemy, this will be your fault, guardian."

She had long ago accustomed herself to his spiteful temper, but the torrent of words still stung. She bit her tongue and refused to be goaded into a response. She focused instead on calming her frazzled nerves. Her throat burned when she tried to swallow.

He stared at her, unblinking, until her breathing returned to normal. When he spoke again his voice was devoid of any discernible emotion. Somehow this felt like a worse rebuke than if he had simply sounded angry again. "There is a stream nearby. Try again. I will return shortly."

He turned and walked abruptly away. She refused to watch him leave, not even to check on the status of his pants. She sunk down into the grass and stared at her lap. The afternoon was warm, and pleasant, but she found it difficult to enjoy being home again, considering recent events.

And future ones.

She gritted her teeth against the unwanted feeling of despair. Loki had pointed out that wallowing in self-pity was not one of her faults. Usually she would have agreed with him, despite the fact that she was surprised he could offer such high praise as 'not a fault.'

She could not allow them to fall into Thanos' hands again. She doubted her next encounter would end as well as the previous one. She closed her eyes, took a deep, relaxing breath, and focused on the energy.

She tried to feel out the particular strands of power that could be channeled to do her bidding. It was somehow easier, without the weight of Loki's presence as an added pressure. She took her time shifting through the coils of energy, more in the mood of curiosity and exploration, rather than looking for something specific. She was still slightly focused on her own personal concerns, as she waded through the knot of energy, and then suddenly, in her mind's eye, she saw it. A wisp of the energy that glowed brighter than the rest, teasing at the edge of her consciousness. She instinctively reached out to the energy source, and felt her blood hum with a successful connection.

In that same moment, she heard a whisper of sound across from her, and she opened her eyes in alarm. She stifled a surprised scream as her gaze met a wide-eyed and equally surprised looking version of herself, sitting across from her.

Her heart thudded in her chest, and she felt a rush of excitement. She had managed to channel illusory energy. She wondered if it was because she had been so self-absorbed. She smiled softly at that thought of personal vanity, and observed her double with interest as the action was mirrored back at her.

She looked a fright. She noted the wild disarray of her hair, the sunset curls tumbling in disorderly waves around her smudged, pale face, and spilling in frizzy tangles down her back. She let out a choke of laughter, and so did her double.

Her mind shifted to the numerous, countless times that Loki had used this very magic to mock her during her training, or to trick her during her duties in Asgard. She watched as a wicked grin spread across the face of the illusion.

She knew she was wearing the same expression.

Her eyes twinkled back at her, the golden hue shimmering and burning and full of the promise of mischief.

* * *

**Author's Note:**

* * *

Thanks for reading, and a special thanks to those who have reviewed. I usually respond to reviews individually (at least once), but this time I had a guest review, so big thank you for that, whoever you are.


	6. A Family of Wiles

Disclaimer: Nothing from Marvel or _Thor_ or _Avengers_ is mine.

* * *

_**Ydalir, Vanaheim.**_

* * *

Loki slowly walked back up the hill leading to the clearing, oblivious to the natural beauty of the landscape around him. Beauty had long ago ceased having any sort of appeal, once he had realized that nothing could soothe the permanent scar that was his reminder of the loss of self and soul. His magic had been some small comfort, but now even the possibility of that relief had vanished.

Fate was not playing fair, he mused.

Fate was tricky. Just when you thought she was on your side, you woke up to find she was playing with an entirely different deck. With an entirely different set of rules.

Maybe an entirely different _game_.

Loki was fine with not playing fair. He had learned long ago all about not playing fair. And he liked rules, too, as long as they happened to other people.

Oh, but he _loved_ games.

He reached the clearing and found it as empty as himself. He sighed, and lifted the barri fruit he'd scavenged to his lips. It was native to Vanaheim, and a rare treat in Asgard. They had nothing like it on Midgard, unless the humans managed to splice the crispy tang of a pomegranate with the cloying sweetness of pears.

But the humans had made bacon milkshakes. They were very inventive with bacon. So he wouldn't put anything past them, when it came to what they could do with food.

A rustle of movement at his back caused him to whip around in alarm, and there she was. He refused to admit the rush of relief he felt, and spoke sharply in instinctual ego defense, to ensure she didn't see it. "You do not look like you've been working very hard. I suppose you have made no progress."

A wide grin was not the response he had anticipated to his scathing remark. "I'm not in the mood for working."

His brow furrowed. "I'm not in the mood for Ragnarok. But alas, we cannot all have what we want."

She ignored his quip and looked down at the fruit he held in his hand. "Is that for me?"

She looked hungry. He gave the fruit a gentle toss with his uninjured arm, and caught it as it fell. "No."

She advanced, and he had to resist the ridiculous urge to back up when she did not stop until she was close enough to touch. He let his eyes drift over her, confused at the latent challenge in her pose. And a little intrigued. Even dirty she was stunning. Not the traditional blond and delicate beauty treasured so much by Asgardians, but vibrant and striking.

She was looking at him now the way she had earlier, when he had made the mistake of touching her. Eyes wide, their pure golden color shining with the heat of fire and star. As if she could _see_ him.

As if she liked what she saw.

Except that would have been impossible.

And there was something else not quite right about it. Loki had learned long ago that there were _some_ things that could never be faked. As soon as his innate senses registered it, he reached out a hand and touched her, shattering the illusion instantly. He was so surprised at her attempted trickery that his usual heightened senses didn't register the additional movement behind him until it was too late, and the fruit was stolen from his loose grasp.

He let out a frustrated sigh, and took his time turning around. There were two of them, each looking supremely satisfied. They both gave the fruit a jaunty toss, in smug imitation of his earlier gesture. He had never before wondered how it would feel to be on the other side of a moment such as this. It was not necessarily pleasant.

He could probably do without this particular game anymore. "I liked you better when you were mortal."

Twin wolfish grins sneered back at him. "This is what folks on Earth call a taste of your own medicine."

"Of course they do. Now if only you could get a better handle on Asgardian medicine. Or anything else of _actual_ use to us."

"I find this very useful. Catharsis is useful." The two Syns edged away from each other to approach him on either side, but his attention never left the one he had been focused on from the moment he had turned around.

"Do you realize that even if I get my magic back, I'm never going to be able to do that spell again. It's covered in shame now."

She edged closer. "You are so much drama. And overconfident, as usual."

"Am I? You think I cannot tell you two apart? Perhaps you wish to wager on it, I know how much you like to gamble."

She stopped, just out of his reach, and arched one delicate russet eyebrow. "You'd have to have something I want, to wager."

Surely this was not a reflection of his own behavior. He shook his head in subconscious denial, and decided he was finished with her games. He was about to reach out and grab her, but movement in the treeline behind her caught his attention.

Dozens of Vanaheim warriors stood within the line of trees, armed and prepared for battle. At their vanguard was a woman seated on a massive white horse. Light glinted from the shining white armor that graced her chest, and as she swiftly dismounted, the panels of her split riding raiment flowed around her legs in a swirl of black and gold.

She began her approach and her extraordinary beauty was more apparent with each step she took. Luxurious golden curls tumbled in waves from her high forehead and curled down over her shoulders to brush against her waist in time with her walk. Her features were delicate and aristocratic, set in a heart-shaped face with features of almost breath-taking allure. High cheekbones emphasized the cat-like tilt of her compelling emerald-gold eyes. Her full, curved lips were currently set in a grim line, though Loki had often enough seen them curling in a smile or breaking into laughter during the lengthy time she had once spent in Asgard.

She had not chosen to age her features as had many other of the Aesir and Vanir who had as many years to their name as she. But Loki assumed that such a choice was only fitting for one who had been worshiped as a goddess of love and fertility.

Syn had not noticed yet. He quickly snaked out an arm to grab her, turning her around and pulling her to his side. She huffed a complaint at first, but immediately stiffened against him when she saw who was approaching.

Freya, Lady of the Vanir, was almost upon them, so close that he could make out the falcon feathers that graced the shoulders of her infamous enchanted cloak.

Syn's double still stood across the clearing with the same befuddled look on its face. Eyes wide, jaw agape. It was embarrassing. Loki leaned down to hiss in his real guardian's ear. "Put it away."

She sounded horrified, and desperate. "I'm trying. I can't."

Oh, by the Nine Realms. Would this humiliation never end? "What flavor of Earth medicine is this?"

She stared up at him helplessly. Her cheeks had taken on a rather flattering rosy hue, but her mouth was still hanging open. There was nothing to be done for it. He reached up and snapped her jaw shut with his finger, firmly, until her heard her teeth click. Her eyes flashed in annoyance, and he watched her bite back a retort, as Freya now stood before them.

The Lady extended a long, graceful hand and the disobedient illusion instantly dissipated. She looked over at them with a gaze that could freeze like the winters of Jotunheim, and when she finally spoke, her voice cracked against them with the force of a whip.

"Syn. I find you back in Vanaheim after a stint of exile on Midgard, frolicking with Loki _Laufeyson_. Practicing magic with a criminal. Is this how I am to welcome you home, after so many years?"

Her eyes moved with obvious disdain to the arm he had forgotten he still held at her waist, and he immediately dropped it. The movement caused her to turn the full force of her increasingly formidable temper on him, and Loki had to resist the urge to squirm like a child under the heat of her tempestuous gaze.

"And _you_. Mischief maker. Prince of Lies and Asgard. You've used her. Destroyed her life. Discarded her and betrayed her. And now here you are, arm in arm and near naked within my own borders. What if someone had _seen_ her behaving this way, in such company? Haven't you done enough to my daughter?"

It seemed that no, the humiliation was not about to end any time soon.

* * *

_**Stark Tower, Midgard.**_

* * *

Thor surveyed the occupants of the conference room. Everyone had gathered, with the new addition of Nick Fury. It had been four days since his brother had disappeared, and he was anxious to do something to move forward in their plans.

Tony leaned over and said in a hushed whisper, "Damn he got here fast. I bet he's been camped outside in the streets for days, just waiting for the call. Trenchcoat, eyepatch, bam, pirate hobo. New York wouldn't even blink."

Thor snorted. From what he had learned about the spy, he wouldn't be surprised if Fury _had_ already known they were all gathered here. He didn't know what a pirate hobo was, and he didn't ask. He'd made an offhand remark to Syn of Tony's nickname for him, _Point Break_, and after clasping her hand over her mouth to stifle a sharp bark of laughter, she had told him more of the reference. He had a sense, mostly due to the mischievous twinkle in her eyes, that she wasn't telling him everything, but he had certainly been intrigued at the idea of riding waves of water for fun.

Tony clapped his hands and moved to the center of the room. "Well, looks like we finally got the band back together."

Fury squared his shoulders and moved to stand next to Tony. He always had a way of getting to the point. "I read your reports on Thanos and the shards. These numbers on the potential to explode stars do not make me happy. What progress have you made?"

Bruce answered, "We haven't found a way to defend against such an attack. The untapped power potential in the way these objects affect each other is promising though. We can use the power of the shard to shield the Tesseract from prying eyes, at least. It should be safe enough. For now."

Fury nodded. "We could use another one of those shards. And I might just have a lead on that. It's something your old adversary was looking into."

Fury was looking at the Captain, whose face had gone hard. "Johann Schmidt."

Fury nodded. "He was obsessed with his theories of _Übermensch. _Trying to make a race of super-human beings. Through science. And through what we think of as magic. He had a habit of seeing truth behind myth and superstition. Legends of godly power. We confiscated endless notes on his so-called 'jewel of Odin's treasure room.' But before he became obsessed with the Tesseract, he was sniffing at the trail of something else. Something called the Norns."

Thor felt a ripple of surprise at this revelation. "The fates?"

Fury's gaze was piercing. "What can you tell us about them?"

They were enigmatic creatures, even to Asgardians. Not many could reach them, at least not those of the living. "They are care-takers of Yggdrasil, and they reside at its base, near the Well of Uror. The knowledge and wisdom they gain in return allows them to oversee the futures of the Nine Realms. They can share their knowledge with those who also have magical association with the World Tree, like the Vanir, yet they never share all knowledge, and the gifts they give can be deceiving. They are tricky beings."

Fury responded, "Schmidt made notes about something called the Wyrd Wend. Some sort of fate travel. That the Norns have the ability to move through time. He was seeking a means to harness this power."

Thor was surprised that the mortal could know so much about his dimension. "It is uncertain how the Norns gain all of their knowledge. Their methods are powerful. And secreted away, for this reason."

The Captain looked thoughtful. "Could they have the shard of time? Or knowledge of it?"

This observation triggered in his memory something that Loki had confessed during recent months in Asgard.

_Thanos looks beyond our dimensions to the greater worlds the Tesseract will unveil._

He spoke, carefully. "The Norns are said to reside in the dimensional gaps between our known worlds, where the roots of Yggdrasil grow deep in the cracks of fire and ice that formed the beginnings of our cosmos. The Tesseract has the power to allow access to places that are closed off to most. It is possible Thanos sought additional shards in these locations."

Fury nodded. "I think it's about time we look into new dimensions ourselves."

Thor perked up. "Odin can channel the power of the Tesseract to allow such a feat. We must go to Asgard."

Tony was, as usual, unconvinced. "Hey, I'm all about racking up travel expenses, but I have to ask. Are the mists of legend really the best battle strategy we've got?"

Thor gave Mjolnir a toss. "Many of your people thought this weapon nothing but the mists of myth and legend. Yet you know well enough how real it can hit."

Tony snorted. "Stop trying to solve everything by treating it like a nail. I'm not playing Myth Busters with you. I just don't feel completely comfortable leaving my planet so vulnerable without some solid evidence. All my stuff is here."

Thor spoke again, and tried to keep his frustration in check. "You cannot sit back and idly fret about Midgard defenses. We must take action, before Thanos gains more ground than he already has. My father has powerful sources that may yet help your world. Look to the bigger picture."

The Captain's interjection was immediate. "Johann Schmidt was a madman. But a genius one. I agree with Fury. It's time a few of us are welcomed into Asgard. We can continue to co-ordinate Earth's defenses while you two do a bit of reconnaissance."

The Captain had said two, while looking at him and the man now standing at his side.

Thor glanced over and Tony was wearing an expression that, for once, seemed to imply that he had nothing to say. He leaned over and shared his own quip. "I hope your new armor set is ready, my friend."

Thor took a brief second to enjoy the moment. He had a feeling such sweet silence would not happen twice.

* * *

_**Sessrumnir Palace, Vanaheim.**_

* * *

Syn entered the main hall and collapsed in a chair at the central table, amid a flurry of exhausted limbs and rumbling stomach. The ride back to the palace had taken most of the afternoon. It was a beautiful, scenic route through the Vanaheim countryside, and under other circumstances she might have enjoyed herself.

After Freya's initial shocked, cold greeting, her mother had dropped the act and pulled her forward into an embrace so tight that she'd ended up with a mouthful of falcon feathers. Freya had warmed up to Loki as well, and for most of the ride the two traded teasing insults like old crotchety friends.

After the Aesir-Vanir war, fought millennia ago, Freya was one of the Vanir chosen in the exchange of hostages that formed the basis of peace between the two powerful groups of beings. Her mother had resided in Asgard for several centuries, before Syn herself had been sent there. She was aware they knew each other, she just hadn't expected them to be so…cozy.

Freya had even used her own magic to heal his arm, and as soon as they arrived at the palace she had ushered him off with a bevy of palace workers for a bath and a fresh set of clothes.

"I'm surprised you're being so nice to him."

Freya smiled gently. "Should I remain bitter and lost in the past, as you are, my daughter? When has that helped anyone?"

Freya had never been able to hold a grudge. But neither had Freya suffered at Loki's hands the way she had. "Are you taking his side? I was exiled because of him. He has torn worlds apart. He would do it again."

"There are no sides here, in this. Not anymore. And worlds have mended, daughter. As you must mend."

Syn felt the frayed ends of her temper flare. "I am not the problem here. _He's_ the war criminal. He's the one now revoked of his Asgardian citizenship. Don't pretend that it's just me judging him. Although of all people, I think I have earned that right."

Her little outburst didn't make her feel any better. And her mother was still looking at her with soft, sympathetic eyes. They were an underlying gold color, as were her own, but they were illuminated with flecks of beautiful, luminous green.

"Hear me well, Syn. He is important. However this may go, in the end of things, and for our future, one thing is certain. He is important."

Her mother was looking at her in earnest now, and there was a hint of desperation in her gaze, green flecks shimmering and expanding until almost her entire iris was emerald. Freya's gift of seeing and understanding the future was well known in the Eternal Realm as far reaching and sure.

Freya was also known to be a match for Loki, in the art of keeping secrets. Syn was instantly suspicious. She bolted upright in her chair. "What have you seen?"

"It is not something easily shared. Even I do not fully understand. It is a feeling, not a seeing, daughter. The more one of the Vanir seeks clarity, the more the knowledge is blurred. You know this."

"Mother. This is not the time to play enigmatic. _What_ are you not telling me?"

"I am telling you what you need to know. You must be careful." Freya's gaze fell to her chest where the mark of Yggdrasil lit her skin. "You have much power now. You must take care of him."

Her mother sat back after her impassioned remark as a young maiden had arrived, with a trencher of meat and cheese. Syn hadn't realized how starving she was until it was set before her at the table. She immediately reached for a piece of roast boar, mentally calculating the best way to ferret out whatever information her mother was hiding.

"What are you wearing?"

She looked up to see her mother frowning at her legs. "Jeans. Earth pants."

"They look very…practical. We need to get you cleaned up. I will have one of your dresses prepared for the evening."

Leave it to her mother to make "practical" sound like an insult. She didn't really feel like fighting over clothes, so she stuffed her mouth with another bite of the boar, to the sound of the doors opening.

She looked up, and almost choked on her mouthful at the sight of Loki approaching. Vanaheim attire was a bit different than that of Asgard. Less well-worn leather and crafted metals. The weather was too warm for it. Fabrics tended to be thinner, more supple and form-fitting, but no less rich and luxurious. She tried telling her mind, with a hint of desperation, that tall, dark and brooding men weren't really that attractive.

And her mind quipped back, _Said no woman ever_.

The under-tunic he had chosen, in his traditional colors of green and black, fit him like it was made for him, clinging across his chest and shoulders and tapering in at the waist. A wide and richly embossed belt helped to emphasize the contrast between his shoulders and narrow hips, currently cradled in overly form-fitting trousers that would have been hidden by a traditional fitted overcoat. Had he chosen to wear one. Yet even his under-tunic was only fastened to mid-chest, as if he had dressed in haste. Simple leather boots completed his ensemble, black to match his pants. His longer hair now hung in clean, still-wet waves to curl rakishly around his neck. One rebellious lock fell at his temple to rest against his cheek, in a clear attempt to taunt her.

She wanted to describe the overall effect with a detached word like dashing, or perhaps elegant, but her rebellious mind was manically substituting words like _decadent_ and possibly _Oh god_, and then _Why is my mouth so dry_. She grabbed another piece of boar in a bid to keep her riotous mind busy with the mundane task of chewing.

He chose a seat across from her and eyed up the trencher of food between them. "Is that roast boar? It is a bit hard to tell, I was not aware the meat could be torn apart like that, without some sort of utensil. Do save a few scraps for me when you finish inhaling it, as it is my favorite."

She glanced to her mother, but her face was blessedly blank. Freya gave her a soft nod, and then excused herself. But before she left she stopped at Loki's side, placing her hand upon his shoulder to give it an encouraging squeeze.

The look on his face made her decidedly uncomfortable. It was rare to see an honest reaction from him. The quick hint of surprised and raw emotion in his eyes as they flickered to the side made her wonder how long it had been since anyone had touched him with a simple, undemanding gesture of affection. She had always taken such gestures for granted. Even after her exile, which had been blisteringly difficult in the beginning, she had eventually made friends and found easy support and sympathy.

She again wondered what her mother had seen, and what she saw in Loki, that she treated him so.

* * *

Freya had not been entirely honest with her daughter. There was _one_ thing she had seen with a bit of clarity. The vision had visited her long ago. But she had misinterpreted it once, to grave ends. And now it had visited again.

This time, she was sure she had it right. She was also confident that she should keep her knowledge secret from her daughter. Syn would only be upset with the information anyway.

But Freya was quite delighted.

She knew Ragnarok would make things difficult. But really, sometimes the future of the universe needed a mother's touch.

She began weaving the threads of her magic. She knew she would need to visit another expert on the nature of magic, a goddess also familiar with the vicissitudes of motherhood. She was confident Frigga would help. There wasn't much a mother of the Eternal Realm wouldn't do for her child.

Or a grandchild.

* * *

_**Fensalir Palace, Asgard.**_

* * *

"I have news of your son."

Frigga lifted a brow at this comment and tried to keep a serious expression on her face. Freya had panted out the words in desperation, as if she had just run a race. The beautiful Vanir was still trying to re-arrange the panels of her dress as she spoke, and she pointed a trembling finger to the creature between them, and spoke again, this time accusingly.

"It almost _ate _me!"

Frigga had to hold back a laugh. "He is a match for mighty Volstagg in appetite. He once made off with an entire roast pheasant."

"_What_ is it?"

Frigga stared at the creature, now innocently licking its paws. It looked like it had tangled with the wrong end of a Bilgesnipe. And won. There would probably be a lengthy debate in Asgard regarding which end of a Bilgesnipe _was_ the wrong end, but in this case it wouldn't matter. This creature looked like it didn't care. He was a tough little thing. And completely fearless.

"His name is Nidhogg. Your daughter brought him here. You know her penchant for rescuing strays. He's a Midgardian cat, I am told. Perhaps if you wish to sneak into my personal estate, you should enter as a woman next time, like everyone else, instead of as a falcon."

Freya sent her a withering glance, but her breathing was getting back to normal, so Frigga's attention shifted to her earlier comment. "Which son, Freya?"

Frigga watched as her old friend bit back a retort, and she knew which one. She sighed, with fresh worry and concern. "Where is he now?"

"At my home. With my daughter, Syn. I had the vision again."

At that information, all other questions were forgotten. "Oh Freya, not again. Last time you played matchmaker with one of your daughters and my son, things did not go as planned."

This was an understatement. She had almost re-started the Aesir-Vanir war.

Freya scowled. "Well you can hardly blame me for assuming Sigyn was the obvious choice. Her beauty surpasses my own, and that is not easy for me to say, Frigga."

Frigga resisted the urge to roll her eyes. "How little you know my son."

"I know him well enough."

"And you still wish him upon your daughter?"

"This is not just about Syn. There are changes coming, for our future. If we yet have one."

"And yet you would meddle in it again? Odin's orders were very clear on this point. Perhaps we should let destiny take its own course."

Freya's eyes flickered with amusement. "And how long has my daughter been here, in the company of your son, without destiny taking any course but one fraught with detours and go no furthers?"

Frigga laughed and threw up her hands. It was never any use, trying to deny Freya when her old friend had something in her head. "Fine. I consent."

Freya smiled as if she knew that would be the answer, and passed over a beautifully carved box. "Take this. My brother Frey will be arriving on the morrow, from Folkvangr Field. He will be escorting them back to Asgard."

Frigga stared at the intricate engravings on the box. They were _ancient_. Even by Asgardian standards. She knew what was inside, and the power it yielded.

Freya's next musing drew her attention again. "Does it ever strike you as odd that Odin chose her to play Vanir hostage? Surely he doesn't know something about this matter that we don't?"

Freya had asked the question as if the obvious answer was "Of course not, don't be ridiculous," but Frigga wasn't so sure, now that she thought about it.

After Freya had served the centuries long term of service as hostage, a new contract had been drawn up, and new hostages chosen. Despite the ominous title, being chosen for such a task was considered quite a high honor. So Frigga had been surprised when Odin had requested Freya's youngest daughter, Syn, to take up residence in Asgard. She had not been the most obvious choice, being young and with her unique gifts not yet mastered.

Plus, Odin _always_ seemed to know things.

"I would not put it past him, the old goat."

Freya snorted, an unladylike gesture that somehow still managed to sound delicate and genteel coming from her. And Frigga smiled to herself. Perhaps a bit of Vanir magic was exactly what her shattered family needed.

* * *

**Author's Note: **

* * *

Aaaaand no, in case you were wondering, I'm still not done loading players on this board. I hope everything is hanging together, I'm doing this beta-free, and the pace is about to get real. Real soon.

As you may know (or could guess), Freya had a magical cloak that allowed her to turn into a falcon. In myth, she had two daughters (Hnoss and Gersemi), but somehow this became three different daughters in Marvel (Sigyn, Idunn and Nanna). So I took a bit of license here myself, since I couldn't resist the chance to have some fun with these guys. I mean, moms are embarrassing enough when they catch you with boys, so can you imagine if your mom was the gosh-darn Goddess of awkward hook-ups and whispers of "You're not getting any younger, sweetie." _  
_

This is not the time for you to start wondering if any characters are reflections of the author's own life experiences. Watch as I deftly distract you with another fun little tidbit. Freya and Loki were known for occasional flyting, a fun little party game that was kinda like Asgardian beer pong, if the balls were insults and instead of flicking them into cups, you flicked them at each other.

Thanks for reading, and sharing this journey with me. Big thanks to my reviewers, you are one of my biggest sources of inspiration, next to insomnia. :)


	7. A Twist of Keys and Fate

Disclaimer: Nothing from Marvel or _Thor_ or _Avengers_ is mine.

* * *

_**Sessrumnir Palace, Vanaheim.**_

* * *

Syn stood within the confines of her old room and stared at the illusion she had summoned of herself. It was the one spell she had (sort of) mastered.

She was wearing the raiment Freya had chosen and carefully laid out for the evening. It was not one of her old dresses, but something new. And stunning, really. She could admit it. It was probably the most stunning piece of clothing she had ever seen, and she'd been to Fensalir. Frigga's palace was host to some of the most beautiful women in all of the realms.

Overlaying panels of silken fabric fell to the floor from ornately feathered clasps of black and gold, at her shoulders. A black and gold band, etched with the same carvings that graced the clasps, highlighted her slim waist. It was deceptively simple in design, yet it screamed elegance on her tall and willowy frame. But it was the fabric that made the garment unique.

The cloth was thin and whisper soft and as ethereal as mist. Its surface shimmered with illusion and magic, as if lit from within by starlight. As she moved, the dress clung and swirled around her legs, panels of fabric parting to reveal glimmering layers underneath, and the hint of skin.

The dress moved and shimmered as if enchanted. It fit her like it was made for her, and her alone.

And she would have loved it.

She would have, if it had been made in any other color but one that shifted from shining emerald and cool jade to the brilliant dark of the forest green.

Her mother had chosen to dress her in Loki's colors.

* * *

Syn entered the great hall to find her mother waiting. Loki was lounging in a chair, with his booted feet up on the main table, and crossed at the ankle. He looked up at her through the veil of his lashes, with his usual brooding stare.

She turned to greet her mother, but instead of seeing satisfaction on her face, Freya just looked surprised. Almost shocked. Syn inwardly rolled her eyes at this show of drama, as if her mother had never seen her in a dress before.

"You don't like it? I can go put my jeans back on."

"No!" It was such a quick and emphatic response she almost jumped. Her mother spoke again, in a calmer tone. "It is lovely…_you_ are lovely, my daughter."

Freya then turned to Loki and sent him a calculating glance. "Loki, what is your opinion?"

His lips curled up in a mockery of a smile. "It is a fitting garment for a mistress of magic, Lady Freya. It is a dress I would have chosen myself."

Syn was suddenly overcome by the rather uncomfortable impression that her mother wasn't looking at her like she'd never seen her in a dress, she was looking at her like she'd never seen _this_ dress. Her mind reeled at the implication. She opened her mouth to protest, but her mother deftly distracted her.

"Your uncle has arrived. He will be escorting you to Asgard in the morning. He has a gift for you, in the stables."

At that announcement she immediately forgot her suspicions, and an uninhibited smile crossed her face. She turned on her heel so fast she almost tripped on the hem of the gown. She picked up a crumpled fistful of the fabric, to the sound of her mother groaning, and went rushing out of the room and through the winding halls of the palace.

She didn't stop her mad rush until she passed the back courtyard and skittered to a halt in front of the enormous doors that graced the stable front. She nearly ran into the figure waiting there, who lit up at the sight of her.

"Syn! It is nice to see you back in Vanaheim, niece."

Frey was a towering, blond haired giant of a man, who always had a ready smile and a reason to laugh. Syn found herself engulfed in a bear hug that near squeezed the life out of her, her feet dangling a good two feet from the ground.

She had to blink back tears, at the warm welcome and the feeling of being home and loved. He must have seen her smile wavering, as he rushed to cheer her. "I have something for you. An old friend, really. I think Tryggr has missed you more than any of us."

He gestured inside the doors, where a large horse, black as pitch and as beautiful as the night, stood waiting. She squealed his name in joy, and gave her uncle a fierce hug. She heard Tryggr's familiar soft whicker of greeting when she approached. She ran her hand down the side of his neck, and he lowered his massive head to nudge her in the chest so hard she almost toppled over. He wore only a halter, but it was all she needed. She led her faithful companion out into the evening light, and he pranced a wild circle around her as if he were as excited as she.

"Uncle, give me a leg up."

She heard a laugh. "You're wearing a court dress. And slippers."

She tossed aside the shoes and stood facing Tryggr's shoulder, bending her left leg up at the knee. "You're right. I don't really need the slippers. Come on, I can't wait!"

He must have heard the impatient excitement in her voice, because she felt warm hands supporting her knee and shin. She braced her leg and then was lifted up with her uncle's familiar, easy strength, as if she were light as a feather. She swung her other leg over and settled herself in, before looking down to thank him.

Except it wasn't Frey standing there with his hand still hot and firm on her leg.

"Leaving so soon?" Loki's voice sounded huskier than usual. His thumb traced a lazy circle over the sensitive skin just below her knee.

She should tell him to remove it, but the shock of the moment left her feeling almost breathless. Instead she busied herself with arranging the panels of her dress, which had bunched up in such a way as to expose an alarming amount of leg.

"I was just going for a quick ride."

"I would come with you." He didn't sound like he was asking.

She was instantly suspicious. "Why?"

He shrugged. "Boredom? Also, Lady Freya requires barri leaves. _And_ it wouldn't hurt you to practice some other spells. I could do self-healing when I was but a child."

Frey was already leading a second horse from the stable, as if the matter had been decided. She stiffened, ready to ride and not in the mood to argue. She felt her horse shift underneath her, sensing her latent tension.

"Fine. You can come with me._ If_ you can keep up."

He moved away as she leaned forward, and it was all the urging her old friend needed.

* * *

Syn gave Tryggr his head, enjoying the feel of the Vanaheim wind in her unbound hair, and didn't pull him back until she entered the forest that extended in a crescent shape around her mother's palace. She let him pick his way through the trees, the trail as familiar to him as it was to her, until they arrived at a small grove that was bisected by a clear, softly trickling stream. Sliding from Tryggr's back, she surveyed the lofty trees with their gilt tipped leaves.

The forest was sacred in Vanaheim, and envoys traveled from all over the realms to acquire a taste of its magical effects. The forest floor was carpeted in a natural cushion of green and gold. She couldn't resist making herself comfortable against the base of a familiar wide tree, as she had so often in the past. She leaned back with a sigh, and closed her eyes to enjoy the escapes of time and memory.

Except the tree wasn't as comfortable as she remembered, and a droll voice pulled her from her hoped-for reverie. "Well, you certainly know how to dress for an occasion."

She snapped her eyes open to find him standing over her, at her feet, staring down at her crossed legs and the stunning, but now slightly crumpled fabric. "It's beautiful," she admitted, as she picked at the cloth with her fingers. She decided to gamble with her suspicions. "Where did you get it?"

"It was my attempt at an engagement gift."

Her eyes widened. He was referring to Sigyn. This was a dangerous family topic she wasn't sure she wanted to dredge up. "I've never seen it before."

His lips thinned into a bitter line. "She never wore it. I was surprised to find that it was even kept."

Discussing her beautiful sister was making her decidedly uncomfortable. She looked down at the mark on her chest, feeling suddenly uncouth and unworthy of the garment. She muttered, mostly to herself, "Who gets a tattoo in this spot anyway?"

His tone was low and amused. "Ah, Vanity. You are the quicksand of reason."

"_I'm_ not the vain of my sisters. And I am _not_ devoid of reason." He seemed to take pleasure in her protest, and she watched as his lips quirked up at the edges. "Must you _always_ laugh at me?"

"The only cure for vanity_ is_ laughter, and the only fault that is laughable is vanity."

"Stop showering me with pithy quotes," she snapped. And then curiosity took over. "Who said that?"

"Henri, son of Berg. A Midgardian lover of knowledge, who, incidentally, had some interesting theories about causality and free will and its relation to the unfolding symphony of time."

She frowned, caught off guard at his own knowledge of Midgard. She was surprised he could appreciate or learn from such things. Shocked, really. He always seemed so dismissive of human intelligence. "And you think he was right?"

He shrugged. "No. You wish to discuss Earth philosophy now?"

Was that what she was doing? It surprised her, how weird her life had become. If she had never been sent to Asgard, all those years ago, she would have been in Vanaheim still. She could be sitting in this very forest, probably with her horse as company, never knowing about Earth. Their movies and their countries and their literature and their fried food and their philosophy.

She wouldn't be talking with anyone about Midgard. She certainly wouldn't be talking with Loki. She took a moment to wonder if Loki or her horse would actually be the better companion, and the thought made her smile.

"What brings that to your face, guardian?"

"I was thinking in another timesong I could be enjoying this very spot, with only relaxing silence and my horse for company. What does that say about my cosmic causality?"

"It says you spent too much of your youth in the stables instead of learning anything of value," he mocked.

She scowled. He had to ruin everything. "Since when were you interested in Earth philosophy anyway? Wouldn't that be beneath you?"

His voice was quiet and without emotion, which still managed to feel like a rebuke. "Any inspiration that engages the mind, or our existence, is worthwhile, regardless of the source. Regardless if it is even correct."

She worried her bottom lip as she thought about this. And then a question that had been bugging her for quite some time sprung to the surface, on the topic of existence.

"What's it like, not having a soul?"

His eyebrows shot up. He didn't look like he really wanted to answer, and she was suddenly sure she didn't want to know. "Have you heard the charming Midgardian expression, 'Hell is other people?'"_  
_

She nodded.

His gaze met hers, and held. "It is not true."

She swallowed. His haunted expression made his meaning more than clear. For Loki, hell was himself. She felt uncomfortable, but it was too late to take the topic off the table. It was like she was watching herself from the outside, waving frantically to stop, but herself didn't listen.

"How did Thanos come to take it?"

His face turned hard. "Who said he took it, you presumptuous girl?"

It was like skidding on ice. You wanted to stop, but couldn't, and even with her brain slamming the breaks, her mouth just fishtailed out of her control.

"You _gave_ it to him? As I suspected. I hope you got something good in return."

What she got in return for her comment was a stare so filled with ice and malice it made her shiver in alarm. "You know_ nothing_."

"I know enough not to sell my soul to the devil," she snapped.

"Ah yes, Midgardian sentiment. How touched I am that it has served you well. My little gift has born fruit."

She stood up to leave, and spoke in rash anger and frustration. "You can hate me, treat me as an imbecile, mock me all you want. Judge me for everything else. But at least _I_ never gave my soul to a _monster_ for the sake of greed and power."

He was in front of her so fast she nearly shrieked in surprise. He grabbed her forearm in a grip as tight as a vise, sending a shock of dull pain up her arm, and pulled her against his chest so that she was forced to bend her head back at an uncomfortable angle to meet his gaze. She was surprised to see his own head lowered so close to hers, their noses were nearly touching.

When he spoke, she felt his hot breath against her lips and chin. And when the full desperation, the utter _horror_ of his hissed words penetrated her consciousness, she felt a suffocating lump lodge in her throat, and the sting of heated tears prick the back of her eyelids.

"Well learn a new lesson to shake up your precious little world, guardian. It was not _my_ choice. _I_ was not the one to hostage away my soul in an ill-fated, grasping devil's bid to buy time for Asgard."

* * *

_**Nastrond (The Hall of Serpents), Hel.**_

* * *

Hela stared at the massive and twisted creature standing humbly across from her, at the foot of her ornately carved black throne.

Thanos was, in his own little way, courting death.

The Mistress sighed to herself. She really wished that this was a euphemism, but it wasn't. Thanos fancied himself in love.

With her.

With Death.

Except she wasn't a manifestation of death. Not really. This was a common misconception. She ruled the land of the dead, this was true enough. One of them, anyway, but it was the largest and most powerful.

She was just doing her job, really. She was good at it. At taking care of the dead, if one were to use the term 'care' loosely.

Death and decay were an inevitable part of the cosmos. Not necessarily pretty, but necessary nonetheless.

And she took _pride_ in her job.

But she was destined for so much more. For so _many_ more.

And she would have them. Her land would soon be overflowing with dead souls, rivers of them, and the power they represented sent a thrill of dangerous lust coursing through her deceptively beautiful frame.

Yet there was still much to do, before the power was hers. There was much _he_ had to do.

They called him the Mad One. She could see why. He had done _horrible_ things, and had a horrible power, even by her own accounting. Yet ownership of the soul shard was affecting him in ways she had not anticipated. Its methods of control were insidious and varied and as deceptive as her own.

On some occasions she found herself wondering if Thanos was growing to love souls even more than he loved Death. This was something she would have to deal with. Eventually.

Despite the fact that he was getting more difficult to control, he was still devoted. She waited with increasing impatience until he finally looked up from the shard that he held cradled in his palm like a beloved pet. And then she made her announcement.

"We will attack Asgard."

His eyes widened as he processed this shocking news. "I'm not ready, Mistress. I do not have the power source I need to destroy the worlds."

"Then we will get you that which you need. Gather the ranks of the dead."

His hand squeezed around the shard. "I have a bargain with Odin, son of Bor."

She smiled, viciously. "I have no such bargain."

He _dared_ to protest again. "But we cannot win."

It was a nasty habit, his constant whining, and she clenched her fists against a rush of anger. She tried to remind herself that he was simple. Usable, and later discarded. But for now, a necessary annoyance.

She didn't have time nor the patience to explain to a simple brute the value of sacrificial pawns. Small battles were insignificant when the final war was on the horizon. The Twilight of the Gods. Her eyes smoldered with fire and greed for power at the thought. "We will not win. We will push Odin Borson into a corner, and we will offer him something he cannot refuse. And when we get what we want in exchange, we will have it. The means to ensure they cannot stop the inevitable. And it _is_ inevitable."

Thanos looked down to stare at the shard again, with an expression that almost looked like anguish. "He does not want it."

Rage screwed up her features into a twisted mask, and she rose from her throne to stalk towards him with barely repressed menace. "We are at war now, not playing your little game of bargains. The value of what you possess has changed. But _his _understanding, like yours, is limited. A new path is opening, and we will be there to make sure it opens for the _world_. _Our_ world."

_Mine_, she inwardly seethed.

The Vanir thought they were the only ones with access to hidden truths and secreted wisdom. But the dead had access. Different, but no less powerful and revealing.

And she, the Dark Mistress, had a very special role to play in Ragnarok.

She wasn't the only one with a destiny unfolding with merciless precision. The golden-eyed child-woman of the Vanir had a role to play in the coming of the end as well, whether she liked it or not.

* * *

**_Barri Grove, Vanaheim._**

* * *

Syn's world was spinning, a full tilt Gravitron-esque whirl that left her gasping and disoriented.

Loki stared at her, and his deeply embittered look spoke volumes, and then decibels. It resounded through the concert hall of her head with the damning echoes of his words. _Not my choice. I was not the one._ And she was pretty sure it's final aria trailed off to the stilted notes of _Hostage away my soul_.

He hadn't really said it, but the meaning behind his words had been clear enough. There was only one other of the Aesir who could have bargained away Loki's soul for the sake of Asgard.

"No…The All-father wouldn't…"

His shook her, hard, cutting off her words. He spoke in an awful, hissing voice. "Oh _yes_, Syn. Asgard is only the home you cherish at high cost, a cost that was weighed and placed on the shoulders of an _infant_. Your precious paradise has quite a caretaker, does it not?"

His eyes glinted sharply, and in their depths she began to see an eternity of condemnation and betrayal. So long she had sought truth, only to find it buried among a horrifying multitude of lies. She felt sick, and slightly dizzy.

"But he's your father," she whispered, her voice cracking on the final word. She was desperately trying to find a way past the damning truth burning in his eyes and scouring her own soul.

He shook his head, his lip curled back in a dangerous sneer. "Oh no. We share_ no_ blood. Only the ties of _deceit_. He hid my true heritage from me. And he hid this too. All those years…"

She shook her head in subconscious denial, and his hand tightened in reaction. She winced in pain, not just at his grip but at the savage rage that took over his features. "You cannot hide now, guardian. I won't let you. Is this not what you have always wanted? The truth of me? Have you any idea how long I suffered this loss, without knowing the source? And I blamed _myself_…"

He bit off his seething tirade and dropped her hand, as if burned, to pace away from her. His next words were soft, an almost incoherent mutter, and she had to strain to hear him. "I blamed myself and I let go. I fell. I fell from Asgard and I was caught and only _then_ did I truly gain wisdom. Oh how I learned. I learned many things, including the real truth of my forsaken birth. Odin was right. I wasn't an old relic, I was merely the shell of one. A twisted, loathsome _reminder_ of settled debts."

Her mind reeled at his condemning assessment. What had Odin owed to a being such as Thanos? And what did they gain in exchange for the torment of a child? She wanted to ask, but she couldn't. She was forcing herself just to look at him, and it _hurt_, as the neat lines of her world came crashing down. All those centuries she had read him as hollow and incomplete. She had assumed it was because he had been hiding himself from her. But something much more insidious had been at play.

She felt a rush of deep, shattering remorse. And shame. She blinked rapidly, her eyes aching. He turned to look at her then, and his face twisted with fury and rage. "Oh no. No no no. I do not require your _pity_, guardian."

He spat out the word and stepped closer. She sucked in a breath but she felt no closer to stemming the impending tide. His hands moved to grip her shoulders, and as each insult unfolded with poisonous malice and contemptuous scorn, he shook her, so hard her teeth rattled. "Do you hear me, Syn? Stupid, foolish, mewling pawn of a woman. Don't you _dare_ pity me. Hatred is what I want. Hatred and _fear_. I will not accept pity. Not from anyone, and certainly not from _you_. You are irrelevant. Insignificant. _Nothing_. You are nothing. Hate is what I have for you. Look at me and see my loathing!"

It was still a stinging slap, even though she knew his words were the harsh and cruel symptom of self-preservation. She squeezed her eyes shut, briefly, to try to clear them, and her voice was a choked whisper of sound. "I'm sorry. Loki, I…"

His face twisted into a mask of cynical incredulity. He pushed her, hard enough to send her back against the tree. It was unexpected, and the force of it snapped her head back. She didn't even have time to recover from the sting of the impact, he cornered her so fast, leaving her no avenue for escape. His head was lowered, and one hand came up to squeeze her jaw and force her head up. "Do _not_ apologize. Not to me. You know_ nothing_. No, do not look away. _Look_ at me. See me for what I really am. Is that not what you've always wanted? Look and see, you _bitch_, and tell me you pity what lies within. Tell me and we shall see how well you can lie. But you can't, not to me. Can you?"

He spoke with deliberate cruelty, and she recoiled from the violence and wrath that emanated from his every pore. She shook her head, desperate to escape his torrent of vitriol. To find some way to lessen the relentless lashes of agony that radiated off of him in assaulting waves.

She had never felt so cornered, and a "Please" escaped her lips in a pitiful moan of sound. She didn't even know what she was asking for. She was drowning in an odd mix of horror and incoherent desperation.

His eyes flickered. She could not say what she saw in their hard, infinite depths, in the brief wisp of time before his eyelids shuttered closed and he pressed his lips to hers.

She had thought about kissing him, sure enough. With a mouth like that, how could she not have thought of it? Usually in her girlish, naïve fantasy he would be looking at her with a genuine smile and real emotion in his eyes, for once, and she would be swept away on the tide of their mutual desire.

This kiss was none of those things. No hint of teasing, no gentle caress. It was brutal. It was meant to punish and shame and anger. Meant to invoke the hatred he claimed to desire. She felt a sharp sting, her upper lip caught between his teeth and hers as his mouth came down, hard and unrelenting. She gasped in surprise. He gave no quarter, taking swift advantage of her position to lick deep and uninvited into her mouth.

His fingers dug deeply into the delicate skin along her jaw and neck, and she clawed at his wrist, trying in vain to pull his hand from her face. His thigh pushed between her legs and kept her forced painfully against the tree, her whisper thin garment offering no protection against the sharp bite of the rugged bark at her back.

She felt a brief burst of rage at his cold and brutal method of humbling her. His monstrous pride had always demanded that he push her down. She thought she had had enough of it, over the years. Yet now, in this moment, all she could taste was torment. And it wasn't hers. How long had he acted out of hurt, lashing desperately to hide what she couldn't even begin to fathom? Something inside of her cracked at the thought of his loss, and then crumbled. She felt splintered and shattered and as broken as if she had lost her own soul.

Her mother was wrong. She _was_ broken, and there was no way to mend this. Despite the shrieking protest of inner warning, she stopped struggling against him.

She surrendered.

Leaned into him, instead of pushing away.

She slid her hands from his wrists to smooth her palms over his chest until she could feel the rapid staccato of his heart, and tipped her head back in humble acquiescence to accept whatever punishment he seemed bent on giving.

In an instant, the taut line of him against her relaxed from tense fury to an unspecified kind of tense. She half-assumed he would push her away again. Yet she only heard him make some incoherent sound, like a wounded animal, and then he altered the slant of his mouth across hers.

And everything changed.

The hand that had been gripping her jaw swept around to cradle the back of her neck, while his other arm swept behind her back to pull her away from the tree. She had no choice but to slide her hands up from his chest to wrap around his neck, or risk leaving them stuck in the middle. The heat of his palm was soothing against her back, as he fit her body snugly against the hardness of his own. The new position caused tendrils of desire to shiver down her spine and curl in her belly, hot and sweet.

Even this kiss was still nothing like what she had once imagined. He kissed her with a tender gentleness that was somehow more dangerous, more demanding, more _lethal_ than his previous brutal aggression, as he deftly converted her desperation to a languid and increasing hunger.

He traced a hot, gentle line across her bottom lip with his tongue, and she gasped at the rush of heat that assailed her senses. He again took advantage of the position of her mouth, sweeping the silky heat of his tongue in a whispered caress just past the barrier of her teeth, before retreating again. As if expecting her to protest.

And she did. She moaned in protest at the loss, and tugged at his neck to pull him closer. A low sound rumbled up from his chest, deep and suspiciously like a growl. His lips came down with increased pressure, bold and almost wild, and she flinched instinctively in reaction.

She regretted it instantly, but it was too late. He tore his mouth from hers. He leaned back and she heard the harsh rasp of their breathing, but when she opened her eyes to meet his gaze, she found him staring at the side of her face. She was confused, for a moment, until she felt another hot tear spill over and burn a trail down her cheek. She hadn't even realized that she'd stopped holding them back.

She braced herself for his fury, but he only lifted a hand to cup her cheek. She drew in a long, tortured breath as his thumb traced over the tear to wipe it away. It was a useless gesture. His comfort was too much for her riotous emotions to bear. She did not feel like she deserved comfort. More tears slipped down, too fast for him to keep up.

By the World Tree, she had never felt such hurt. How could he stand it? The pressure in her chest expanded until the ache became a fierce burn, which confused her, as did the widened shock in his eyes when he pulled his hand away to stumble back from her.

He broke eye-contact to stare down at himself. At his chest, where a flash of skin was exposed through the low and half-fastened neckline of his tunic. Where the mark of Yggdrasil now burned bright and fierce and brimming with life and power.

He lifted his head again and looked as amazed as she felt. "There was a second key."

Her eyes widened. She had no idea if that was normal, but she wondered what they had done to unlock it again. It seemed silly to even say it, but she wasn't really thinking properly, given recent events. "A kiss?"

The look he gave her was the same she had seen so many times before.

_Idiot_.

Its familiarity was almost comforting, with everything else in her world so turned upside down. That is, until he opened his mouth. "Of course, that must be it. Is all this some Midgardian fairy tale to you? The kiss was insignificant."

His effortless dismissal pricked deeper than his contrived and malicious words spoken earlier, and those were designed to sting. She looked to the ground, anywhere but at him, and vowed to regain control of herself.

He paced in front of her, and continued, "Tears, on the other hand, oh they can mean _so _much. You are aware of the power of your mother's tears, are you not? The magic they used to possess was once a highly sought commodity. But this…this is another contrivance entirely."

He laughed, an ugly maniacal sound. "He still thinks he can teach me, the old fool. And his damn foolish sentiment. He _failed_, and I will gain from it."

She assumed he was referring to the All-father, but a flash of golden light distracted her, and she swallowed her hurt to softly whisper, "Why do I still have the mark?"

She heard him move closer, but she still refused to look at him, even as he answered. "I do not know. This is a powerful enchantment. I know only one other in all of Asgard who shares this mark with us. Legend says he received it from the fount of Mirmir. Near the edges of Jotunheim. But not without price. Everything has a price. Let us go ask him about it, shall we?"

Before she could answer, he had his arm around her waist and she was pulled snugly to his side again. She snapped her gaze up to find him staring at her mouth with a frown. She was surprised when he lifted his hand to sweep the pad of his thumb over the swollen curve of her upper lip.

His smug smile of satisfaction was almost infectious, except she had the sinking feeling that he didn't care about healing as much as he cared about having his magic back.

And then she just had a sinking feeling.

Because she was falling.

Through _worlds_.

* * *

**Author's Note:**

* * *

Syn (with Loki's powers) dressing up like Loki was indeed inspired by the Marvel stories of Loki in female form. And the second unlocking of the Seidr Tree was inspired by the story of Odin punishing Loki by imprisoning him in a tree until someone shed a tear for him. D'aw.

As always, thanks for reading. I did lose a bit of momentum, which I partially re-gained due to some very lovely recent reviews from Calliope's Inspiration, Emberlies, Agent007Tomato and a nice guest, which meant a lot! However updates might be a bit further apart, especially due to the start of Fall semester. But they will come!


	8. The Shame that Binds

_Disclaimer: Nothing from Marvel or __Thor_ or _Avengers_ is mine.

* * *

_**Stark Tower, Midgard.**_

* * *

Tony gripped his suitcase in his left hand.

His case that _was_ his suit, not the case that held his suits. He really needed to come up with a better name for it.

He glanced at the container encasing the Tesseract, before looking up at the muscled Asgardian who held it. "I'm ready. Beam me up."

"That is not how…" Thor trailed off and his furrowed eyebrows raised in comprehension. "Ah, another Midgardian turn of phrase?"

Tony smiled. "Hey, you liked Star Wars. When we get back to Earth, I'll introduce you to Star Trek."

"A continuation of this epic saga?"

Tony snorted. "Don't let anyone else hear you say that." He then took a breath, extended his right arm, and took solace in the fact that his next quip would be delivered in another dimension.

* * *

_**Coiled Passage, deep within the Roots of Yggdrasil.**_

* * *

Loki should never have given her the dress. He could feel the silken fabric under his palm, and the heat of her skin warming it. She was pressed flush against him, the lower panels of the fabric swirling around his ankles and clinging to his legs in a tangle of green against black. He could feel the enchantment thrumming through the dress, despite the fact that this particular magic had been intended for someone else. All wrapped up with his foolish dreams and young hopes, now nothing more than an unwelcome reminder of his old naivety.

Dreams were the stuff of illusion, and hopes were meant only to be shattered. They belonged in the transient and ethereal realm of _sentiment_, and they were vulnerabilities he could ill afford.

Certainly not now.

Nor ever again.

And so he gritted his teeth against the drugging warmth as their shared connection to Yggdrasil seeped into his skin. It felt…intimate. Like _she_ was seeping into his skin. Crawling inside and tucking herself in places she did not belong. She was light and warmth and truth and such things had no place in the hollowness of his being. He had worked _too_ hard to keep such things at bay.

He had long ago learned the harsh and well-taught lesson that the true essence of torment did not lie in pain, but in respite from pain. Such a reminder only led to hope that the pain would not return. Asgardians liked to call him the Lord of Lies, but even he could not lie as adroitly and as thoroughly as hope. Hope led to the tearful cry of the weak, begging the pain to stop, once it had returned, to stop even just for a moment.

The endless, engulfing cold, without such respite, could be ignored. This pain was merely physical, and after enough time, it could be stored away.

Compartmentalized, dismissed, and forgotten.

But the hope that the anguish might have an end was a killer of the _mind_. Ruination, for clear-thinking. The beginning of the end of losing the self to pain.

As a youth, he'd been such a fool to think dressing warmly could keep the cold at bay. It was ridiculous, but he had known no better. It had only served to single him out as different. And so he had taught himself not to care.

And once his true nature had been revealed, he had been a fool yet again, to think the relentless cold had anything to do with his Jotunn blood. He had finally learned its true source, and he had learned the final lesson, that such an inner darkness could never be defeated as easily as an external enemy. And once he had learned, he had left behind the foolish attempts to rid himself of it.

Nothing had ever worked.

And nothing would.

This was his reality.

His life.

His entire world.

Until he had kissed her.

The warmth had been shocking in its intensity and comprehensive in its range. It had seeped through his limbs to his very core, as if seeking to melt the piercing shards of ice that permeated his very heart. It was the work of the mark, he supposed, and its effect had been, in a word, devastating.

He had felt an almost unbearable pain at its loss, at first, until a savage anger had arisen to chase such foolishness away. Anger, that she would _dare_ affect him in such a way. Anger, that he would allow it.

And yet here he was, touching her _again_.

It was disgusting. The soft, curled ends of her unbound hair teased against the skin of his arm, currently wrapped around her waist. And despite knowing what would happen when he let go, he was still surprised at the jolt of it. In an instant, ice seeped over his shoulders and down his back, sharp frigid knives buried in his limbs, pressing up against his skin and pushing down to his very marrow.

The hollow torment of being without a soul for a lifetime had returned with a vengeance. He clenched his teeth and re-focused his magic to counter the effect, until the feeling became nothing more than the needling, prickling annoyance to which he had grown accustomed. It was an old trick he had perfected, and a useful one. But the reminder still remained. The knowledge that the respite was there, within in his grasp, if only he would reach for it.

Another weakness to be overcome, and he would prevail.

As soon as that comforting thought registered, their trip through dimensions ended. In the space of mere moments they had moved from the forests of Vanaheim to the inner halls of Asgard. He could have gone anywhere else. He _should_ have gone anywhere else, except there would be no hiding from what was coming. His chances of survival were greater now, but there was still the problem of the little burgeoning source of power at his side. His connection to Yggdrasil was strong, but it was incomplete. It was broken.

_Shared._

He could feel the threads of energy that linked them together now. He doubted Syn could recognize it, but his training was nothing if not entirely comprehensive. She _limited_ him. He assumed Odin wanted it this way, her will and soul to temper his own lack, but he was sure there was a way around it. And he was determined to find it.

He pushed his thoughts aside and glanced down at Syn, her breathing elevated. His gaze fell to her lips, briefly, before returning to her now widened eyes.

By the Nine Realms, he was cold.

He really shouldn't have kissed her. It was doing strange things to his head, which he belatedly realized was dipping ominously downward, and he knew now why there was surprise in her face. He should definitely not kiss her again. It was far too dangerous, for both of them. He hoped she would recognize the danger and stop him. But he knew, as he looked deep into her eyes, that she was not going to stop him.

She was just so damn foolish. Such a ridiculous, irrational woman.

His lips met hers.

He touched her nowhere else, and yet he felt the rush of heat, just as before, intensified by their shared connection to the latent power that imbued their universe. She moved forward, closer, like a searing blaze against the bitter chill, and he gave a low hum of contentment against her mouth.

This was madness. She was mad. It was up to him to stop this absurdity.

He raised his arms to push her away, and felt her melt against his chest. His Vanaheim attire was a thin barrier against the press of her body against his. The warmth soothed like liquid flame throughout his limbs, curling deep in his belly, spreading up his thighs, and settling hotly between them. His palms rested of their own accord at her back, and she responded with a soft moan.

This kiss was not like the one before, hurried and rushed and full of rage and shock. This kiss was exploration, and he noted each shift in warmth as she continued to respond. Her lips were soft against his, inviting, as he teased her with the barest of pressure, sweeping his hands up her back, pushing the fabric aside until his fingertips grazed her bare skin. She shivered against him as he pulled her closer, finally breaching the seam of her mouth with his tongue.

The taste of her was intoxicating, the alien warmth now ignored as long suppressed senses kicked into overdrive. She moved her own hands, trailing her fingers up his arms and over his shoulders, before tugging at his neck. She was apparently done being passive, and he growled in warning against her mouth and tried to pull back from her. She was _not_ the one in control here. But her caressing touch became an insistent pull. She nipped at his lower lip before sending another rush of heat through him with a hesitant flick of her tongue against his.

He was losing his battle. This behavior could not be tolerated. He could not afford to lose himself to something so inconsequential. He tried to focus on something, anything else, and his senses registered movement at his back a mere second before he heard a clatter of noise that sounded suspiciously like a dropped weapon.

Syn jumped back with a gasp, pulling herself from his arms, a flattering rosy blush creeping over her fair skin. He grimaced against the cold and the rush of misery, before turning on his heel and moving past the flustered and very confused guard, his long stride taking him swiftly towards the throne room.

* * *

_**Palace of the Aesir, Asgard.**_

* * *

Syn watched Loki walk away. He had turned from her without even a word, his lips curled down in a scowl of disgust and disapproval. He had looked almost pained, except she knew that it was anger, and not anger at the guard that had interrupted them, but at her.

Like he was repulsed by her. She felt a rush of shame at the realization. Especially since she had felt no such revulsion. Perhaps he had just been toying with her, yet again. Leave it to Loki to find new and creative ways to torment her. And really, she shouldn't be surprised. What else had she expected, the Lord of Lies and Mischief to suddenly kneel at her feet and profess undying love, just because they had shared a few kisses? That he would ever be content to play Prince Charming to her Rapunzel?

She raised a hand to her tousled curls, and snorted loudly at that preposterous idea, attracting the full attention of the guard, who had been surreptitiously trying not to stare. She felt her blush deepen. She, a Guardian of Asgard, had just been caught making out with her charge. By nightfall, the whole palace would likely be tittering about it.

She sighed and banished her ridiculous thoughts. Now was not the time to get lost in such musings. She squared her shoulders and vowed to put aside her preoccupation with Loki. Using such a tame word to describe the tangled mess of responses he evoked in her was on the same level as calling pepper spray nothing more than a food product. But if denial helped, then so be it. There were more important things to focus on.

She followed Loki's path, her bare feet silent on the warm floor. She entered the throne room to a rush of exiting guards, looking slightly flustered and likely having been hastily dismissed from their posts. In their wake only a tense silence remained. Two figures were left in the room, other than her, standing opposite each other on the raised dais leading up to the high throne.

Neither had noticed her entrance, so she took a moment to study them.

Loki, to her left, still in his Vanaheim attire. Dark and lean and lethal, he embodied the brooding night. One never knew what might emerge from the pitch, and once something did emerge, it was often too late to react. Even now, she didn't know what he was planning.

Across from him, to her right, stood Odin.

Son of Bor. The High Aesir. Presider over the twelve Diar. Guider of souls to Valhalla. Wielder of the Odin Force.

_All-father._

But not Loki's father.

She felt her hands clench in involuntary reaction to the rush of anger she suddenly felt. The light was just as much a lie as the dark, except even more insidious, with its illusion of truth and promises of illumination. Syn knew better than most the masks that people wore, and the mask of the liar was, if nothing else, at least an honest one.

Odin was the first to break the tense silence. He wasted no time with greetings, just a simple observation. "The tree has bloomed."

Loki spat out a fury-laden response. "Perhaps the way you had planned, All-father, but it is broken. _Why?_ Why do you continue to torment me with a glimpse of what I could be, if you intend only to rip it from my grasp and torture me further? Is this some sort of game, or is this additional reprimand? If this is your chosen eternal punishment, I must commend you on your sense of creativity. I was not aware you knew the true value in manipulating the promise of hope."

Odin chose that moment to turn towards her, his gaze piercing, and knowing. She had to resist the urge to squirm.

Loki continued to speak, acknowledging her presence but not looking at her. "Oh, she knows. But her knowledge still lacks an important piece."

Loki moved so fast Syn didn't fully comprehend what happened until it was over. Until Loki had shattered Odin's armored chest-piece with a burst of golden light so powerful that she felt the ripples of its effect in her own chest, the force causing her to stumble back. She could feel her own mark burning hotly in reaction to the now dissipating energy. She wouldn't be surprised to look down and see steam sizzling up from her skin.

She caught her balance and had to resist the urge to continue moving backward as Loki clenched a fistful of the fabric of Odin's under-tunic and dragged him towards her. The All-father seemed remarkably unresisting to the indignity of being pulled down the dais like an errant youth. Syn wondered why he was allowing such a show of near treason.

Loki's sharp words echoed around them in the large and cavernous room. "Fools. Asgard is full of fools and idiots. So simple in their trust and belief in their fearless king of kings. _You_ tell them that you lost your eye in the battle of Ancient Winters, and so they believe it. Tell her, All-_father_. Let her see the truth of who you really are."

Loki pushed him forward and she found herself gazing up into the eye of her king. His gaze was as piercing as before, but to her surprise he also looked open and almost...inviting. She would have never dared to use her gifts on the All-father, but she was feeling a bit reckless, considering recent revelations.

So she looked.

And found torment there, a torment to match anything she had ever experienced. Pain and anguish and a guilt so keenly felt he was choking on it. Looking into his scarred face, she could feel the painful guilt streaming from him, tearing, worse because it was bottled up inside.

And underneath the weight of his pain she found something else, something that burned through the smoke and shadow, bright and true, and she knew without a doubt that this is what he had _wanted_ her to see. His love, for Loki, and his desire to protect, tied up with his guilt.

Loki was right, there _was_ a piece of the puzzle still missing, something that Odin kept tucked away deep inside, but it was not the secret Loki was anticipating. She pulled away from the All-father, hesitant to press deeper and full of self-doubt.

Loki's stormy visage darkened further. "Ah, how remiss of me. We are back in Asgard. How could I allow myself to think a guardian such as yourself might understand? Perhaps another demonstration is in order."

Loki tugged down on the fistful of fabric he was clutching, at Odin's chest. Syn found herself face to face with yet another mark of power, different in form from the one she and Loki shared, but she could recognize the threads of Yggdrasil nevertheless.

"Not all of Odin's power is tied to his rights as All-father. Your precious king gave his eye for _this. _That is the price he was willing to pay for supremacy. That is the length to which he was willing to go, on his own, to protect Asgard. Or to give himself greater dominion over these lands, if you want the real truth of it. But when such a sacrifice was deemed insufficient, when a greater force was desired, he could sacrifice no more of _himself _in his nefarious bargains. And so he traded my _soul_ away, at an age when I could not even make such a choice, nor defend against it. And he might make a claim that he did it for Asgard, but now, when…"

A choke of sound behind them diverted Odin's attention as Loki's snarl trailed off. Syn looked to see Frigga standing in the doorway, her hand covering her mouth, her eyes widened in the horror of comprehension.

She turned, on instinct, to Loki. He had a look of desperation on his face, either born of his own horror or shame she could not say, and she wasn't given the chance to discern further. He simply disappeared. He had never been one to run away from anything, or concede defeat.

Odin's voice was soft but full of command. "Go after my son, guardian. I must speak with my wife."

She nodded and headed towards the door, passing Frigga on her way out. The queen of the Aesir had recovered somewhat from her initial shock and now looked fierce enough to take on Thanos himself.

* * *

Frigga was shaking with fury as she crossed the massive room and approached her husband, her son's condemning words ringing in her ears. The look on Odin's face betrayed their truth. "How_ could _you?"

"My wife, you do not know…"

The sound of her palm hitting his cheek was a loud crack of noise in the silence of the large, echoing room. She could barely speak she was so overwhelmed, so her tirade came out in a hissing torrent of words. "Don't you _dare_ to presume to tell me what I do not know. He was but an innocent child. _Alone._ Were we not supposed to protect him?"

"I _was_ protecting him."

She raised her hand again, but she had lost the element of surprise. He caught her wrist in his broad hand and held it there, suspended in the air like the thousands of unsaid words between them.

"Please, Frigga. Will you listen? If you do not like what you hear, then you may take my other eye."

He was staring at her with a pleading expression, and she saw the pain she always knew he carried, deep within him. For so long she had endured this heavy heart of his, but she had never fully understood the reason for it. And she was desperate to understand him better. To understand...this, whatever it was.

She nodded, and he released her arm. She let if fall limply to her side as he spoke.

"Loki is not like any of us. He has always been different, yes, being a Frost Giant and Prince of Asgard, but that is not what I mean. Do you recall that I visited the Norns of Fate, when I first brought him to Asgard?"

She nodded silently, and he continued. "They told me that they allowed him to be born misshapen to the Jotunn because he _needed_ to die. As caretakers of our cosmos, this was the fate they had bestowed upon him, because he was a being that would grow into something too powerful for the universe, in its current form, to handle. Ragnarok is _not_ what we have been taught it is. It…Frigga, I was ordered to throw him into the Well of Uror and be done with it."

Frigga felt a shiver of horror run down her spine. "The Norns told you to _murder_ a child?"

"He was _fated_ to bring death to the cosmos. But I could not do it, my wife. I could not. The Norns vowed to me that they would accomplish this deed, to kill him, in my place. We have always known that the cosmos has a life of its own, imbued with the spirit of Yggdrasil. If Loki was not left with the Norns to die, he would have been hunted. Pushed out of the universe like a festering cyst. And there would have been nothing I could do. You _know_ their power. It is beyond even the Aesir."

He hesitated for a moment, and when he began again, his voice was an aching, anguished whisper. "So I tore him in two. I altered the Fates. The prophecy was changed. I _broke_ him, Frigga, and thus the Norns allowed him to live, if only in this new state."

Frigga tried to process this information, but her own heart was breaking, her entire world shattered around her. "How did Thanos acquire the soul?"

She almost had to strain to hear his whisper of words, as he paced away from her. "This is my greatest failure. I could not create an enchantment to sustain his soul force while separated from his body. The only power source capable of such a thing is the shard."

Odin turned towards her again, suddenly, his voice hard. "I had no choice. I bargained away Loki's soul. To _protect_ him. To save him. And to save us."

Her husband was gazing at her with desperation, pleading with her to understand. Yet this seemed too much for her to forgive, at the moment. Anger and sorrow twisted her heart.

"We could have battled Thanos for the right to the shard. But which concerned you most, husband? The salvation of Loki, or that of your precious Asgard?"

Her barb struck deep. She saw the pain rise in him. She swallowed her instant pang of regret, along with her urge to apologize. There were still too many unanswered questions.

"I have been siphoning power for centuries to create an enchantment that could give our son the protection he needs to fight the old fate. To fight for his soul, and our new fate. And he will not be fighting alone. I _will_ go to war for our son, Frigga, but not until he is ready. We must wait for the proper time. We cannot risk inciting the Norns and battling on two fronts. I have failed my son in many things, but in this, we must not fail."

The promise in his words was reassuring, but not quite enough to overcome her earlier feelings of betrayal. "Why did you not tell me? And Loki, he _must_ be told. What he must think of us, all these years now..."

She watched with dawning horror as his face hardened again. "I kept this a secret for the same reasons that you and I both decided not to tell Loki that he was Jotunn. For his, and your, protection. Loki cannot know, Frigga. Not yet."

As she looked at him she knew with the familiarity born of centuries that she would not be liking what he was about to tell her next.

* * *

Syn made her way down the long entrance hall leading out of the throne room. She had felt the connection to Loki's magic earlier, and she had the sense that such a connection could be manipulated, not just felt. She was trying, without much success, to hone in on this connection. She rounded a corner, focused on her task, and ran into a solid, muscled chest. Strong hands steadied her as she looked up to meet clear blue eyes, widened with surprise and filled with many questions.

Yet Thor voiced only one. "Loki?"

She nodded and quickly reassured him. "He's here. I seek him now. Your parents are in the throne room."

Thor gave her a quick squeeze of greeting at her response. "I will head there now. Syn, it is good to see you."

He headed in the direction she had indicated. She was left staring into brown eyes, dark and intent.

"Thought we'd lost you, sunshine. Nice tattoo. Nice _dress_." His eyes shifted from the mark on her chest to take a jaunt down to her bare toes and back up again.

Tony managed to appear both leering and complimentary. She couldn't help but smile. "Someone once told me that style is what gets remembered."

"Yeah, well, this is not a look I'm gonna forget anytime soon. What is the deal with that fabric?"

He reached out a hand to touch the dress, near her hip. She felt the material shift against her with a strange twisting of energy that was her only warning, but it happened so quickly she couldn't stop him. She watched as a small shock of energy hit the pads of his fingers.

Tony pulled back his hand with a yelp of surprise. "What the hell? Your dress just bit me!"

She sucked in a horrified breath. "Tony, I'm so sorry. I don't know what happened. I didn't mean to do that, I…"

"I did." She jumped at the velvety voice, and turned to see Loki materialize at her side. The brief show of emotion from earlier was gone, replaced by a hardened and ominously unreadable mask.

Tony did not look amused. "Does he have his magic back? I thought you were supposed to be guarding him."

She sighed. "There have been a few complications. A lot has happened. Why are you here?"

"A lot's happened."

Loki swiftly interjected, before Tony could elaborate. "Since I cannot say that I hate to interrupt this cozy little reunion, I will skip the niceties and get to the point. Syn, join me."

It wasn't a question. And for the third time that day she was pulled to his side while the reality around her shattered.


	9. A Calm before Storms

___Disclaimer: Nothing from Marvel or __Thor_ or _Avengers_ is mine.

* * *

_**Mt. Thrymheim, Jotunheim.**_

* * *

The bitter wind kicked up an icy flurry, mixing with the snow falling heavily from the sky. The precipitation had increased dramatically during their unwavering trek through the barren foothills of the Thrymheim mountains. The long and treacherous range loomed ominously in the distance, cutting a ragged and ugly scar across the southernmost part of Jotunheim.

Syn gritted her teeth and tried to focus on the shadowy figure several yards in front of her. Loki moved easily enough through the deep snow, and his lead on her grew with each lengthy stride. He had muttered something about the necessity of using more conventional means of travel for the remainder of their journey, before setting off towards the looming cliffs.

He had refused to say anything else to her.

She swallowed, her throat dry and hoarse from shouting after him like some shrill and nagging spouse. Her screaming had done nothing to get answers, nor had it stopped his uninterrupted, unrelenting pace. She had the uncomfortable and rather vivid impression that if she didn't follow him, if she just gave up movement and let the cold overtake her, that he would just keep right on going, leaving her behind like some macabre frozen version of Lot's wife.

Except her own eyes were focused forward, not back. She scanned again for the shadow of movement, and was alarmed to discover that it was no longer in front of her. She felt a brief burst of panic before losing her footing.

She threw up her arms in time to catch herself on the way down, but still ended up with a face full of frigid snow. Her palms sunk down until she was buried past her elbows, icy shards clinging to the upper portion of her dress in some sort of convoluted effort to match the bottom. The chill sunk deeper into her skin. She had learned of hypothermia, but she hadn't thought she would ever experience it.

Her Vanaheim blood provided a higher level of durability and protection from the elements than when she had been human, but her still bare feet and ethereal dress added no extra protection against the ruthless terrain.

She pushed herself up to her knees, and had to suppress a startled yelp when a strong hand grabbed her upper arm and hauled her to her feet.

Her eyes registered the unfamiliar color of that hand, but the message didn't quite cross her sluggish synapses and knock at the door to her frozen brain until her eyes made contact with his face.

Blue skin.

Red, golden-flecked eyes.

Raised tattoos swirling up from his neck and down from his forehead. She followed the line of one from his chin to where it teased at the lower edge of his bottom lip, currently turned down in an angry sneer.

"Have you had an edifying look?"

She hadn't.

In fact, she had to resist the almost overwhelming urge to touch him. Her fingers itched to smooth over the skin of his cheek, to discover if it was as cold and unyielding as it appeared. Or perhaps to trace over the tattoos trailing down his neck, to discover where they led after they disappeared under the cover of his garments.

She was surprised at her own lack of control wherever he was concerned, although she shouldn't have been. He'd always fascinated her. Yet part of her still argued she should put up at least a token of a fight against this constant pull.

He was dangerous.

In all his forms.

She took a hurried step back, although she retreated more from herself than from him, and almost lost her balance again in the unforgiving snow.

"Tsk tsk, Syn. I have not known you to be so clumsy. Is this form really so appalling?"

He spoke in his usual dismissive tone, but she had the innate sense that the answer mattered more to him than he let on. She shook her head, but he didn't allow her to speak.

"My interactions with the Casket of Ancient Winters have had an unintended side-effect. Contact with the energy sources of Jotunheim can now trigger this form with relative ease, even prolonged exposure to this very _place_. I can control it, but it seems such a waste of effort. I'd certainly not want to miss out on such flattering reactions. Not to worry, guardian. We will be gone from here soon."

"And why _are_ we here, Loki?" she gritted out, in a vain attempt to regain focus.

"Can you not guess?"

She could. But the prospect was so abysmally horrifying that she had kept it locked away in the back of her mind, buried under heaps and heaps of distracting and bitter cold.

"Mímisbrunn," she whispered, her teeth chattering around the word.

His lips drew back into a smile that somehow managed to be both sinister and playful.

Jotun features or not, she _knew_ that look.

She took another step back, but he only moved closer. He stalked her with innate grace, despite the terrain, making her feel like nothing more than clumsy prey.

"Would you drink, Syn? Would you sip from the Well of Mimir? It is imbued with the sap of Yggdrasil. What would you give, for the opportunity to gain such arcane wisdom?"

She dug in her heels, refusing to be such an easy mark. But he only leaned closer, somehow taller than her memory allowed. His crimson eyes burned into her with a fervent heat that almost dared to chase away the weighty chill that had consumed her.

"Would you trade a pretty golden eye? Mimir has accepted such a gift before. But legend dictates that his tastes may have grown."

His words were carefully chosen. Mimir did not accept gifts. The ancient, powerful, and nearly omniscient giant took whatever he wanted from the few pilgrims who dared to make the deadly journey to his fount. Few made it, and according to legend, none that did successfully navigated the frozen, labyrinthine tunnels on the way out.

But _one_ had.

Loki's fingers danced down her bare arm, distracting her from her thoughts. "A limb, perhaps? Yours are quite enticing."

His light touch left a silky warmth swirling it its wake, and drew forth a shiver that had nothing to do with the cold.

"I can take you there, and your dreams could be yours. What do you yearn for, guardian? I know your soul must yearn. Does it hunger, for something you cannot have?"

His voice was a dangerous caress, full of both warning and promise. His fingers left their post at her wrist so he could wrap his arm around her waist and pull her ever closer. She had thought that he would feel cold, but this close to him she felt only heat.

The sting of awareness was sharp and acute, yet no less dangerous than the deadly cold which had preceded it.

She was caught in his snare, and he knew it. He was _toying_ with her, but some part of her refused to push him away as he leaned in to whisper in her ear, his voice soft and low.

"Mine does. My soul hungers. It _burns_ with need."

His mouth grazed the shell of her ear as he spoke, before ghosting over her jaw.

Her cheek.

The corner of her lips.

"Would you like to know what my soul hungers for?" he whispered, his voice hot against her mouth.

She swallowed, her heavy lids fluttering closed of their own accord, tendrils of anticipation curling in her belly. But before she could whisper back a response, the arm around her waist disappeared, and the support with it.

She snapped her head up, barely catching her balance on cold, wobbly legs.

His red eyes were hard again, and the familiar sneer returned.

"Well, guardian mine, so would I. And I shall, if you but keep to your feet. Is it too much to ask?"

* * *

The cold seeped back into her skin as she watched him turn on his heel and head towards an outcropping of rocks at the base of the mountain. Like most of this forsaken planet, they looked ominous, huge and jagged slabs jutting up from the ground like angry shards of frozen earth.

She approached, wary and lost in her thoughts, hoping to find a way to gain control of her riotous emotions, and some advantage over her current dilemma. As she stumbled forward she discovered that the rocks formed a rough semi-circle around a small, flat clearing. Loki was pressed up against one, and as she caught his eye he lifted a finger over his lips in the universal plea for silence. She moved swiftly to his side and put her back against the rock, mirroring his position.

"Jotun?" she whispered.

He shook his head, his eyes dancing with some humor she did not understand. "Frost giants do not dare to tread here."

She craned her neck around the side of the rock. A stone pillar had been erected in the center of the clearing, and a long thick chain extended outwards, disappearing into dark shadow at the opposite end.

Her quickly adjusting eyes made out a figure in the gloomy darkness. The figure took shape, and when the shape became recognizable she whipped her head back and stood stiffly against the cold rock, a thrill of fear running up her spine.

Her hand clenching around a non-existent weapon.

She had nothing to defend herself.

She wasn't sure her whispered words would fully convey her fury. "We should not be here. Why have we come _here_, Loki?"

He smiled, slowly. Deadly. "I always make time to come here when I visit Jotunheim."

He did not seem to be taking this danger seriously. She didn't even have any armor.

But _he_ did.

"You have your armor," she exclaimed, in an accusing whisper.

He quirked a brow at her rapid change of subject. "A simple conjuring. Perhaps you could manage such an uncomplicated spell?"

He quickly shifted position to stand in front of her, resting his forearm against the rock above her head. "Concentrate, Syn. It is the way of magic, to extend our focus beyond the limits of our emotions. Our fears. The immediacy of any situation. Look at you, cold, shivering. _Weak._ Imagine the warmth, and safety. Find the threads that guide you to what you need."

She was again surprised at the heat she felt when he was so near, pressing up against her. Trapping her against the rock. He had found flimsy enough reason to be close to her quite often over the course of recent events.

She was acutely aware of the fact that if she but tipped her head back, her lips would meet his.

It was a ridiculous thought to be having, at a moment of such danger and vulnerability. She could win an award for Inappropriate Timing. Or perhaps her own transparency was her worst enemy. She had no doubt he did this on purpose.

Taunting.

Taking advantage of every weakness.

It was his strength.

She lifted her chin, carefully avoiding the touch that seemed almost like an offering, and took a moment to glare her displeasure at him before closing her eyes to focus on the energy. She felt it, twisting, still a dangerous coil. She brought to mind her armor. Not the armor she had been gifted at Asgard, and had left behind on Midgard, but her Vanaheim armor. Frey himself had commissioned it to be made from leather cured with the strength of tannins from the Barri tree. It was a simple set, but beautiful in its simplicity and more valuable to her because of the sentiment.

She suddenly felt the snug comfort of layered garments wrapping around her. She smiled with regained confidence, and opened her eyes to send Loki a satisfied smirk.

He appeared to be holding back a laugh.

She looked down in confusion to survey her handiwork.

She was wearing what looked to be some sort of bodysuit. The leather was soft and supple and exceedingly form-fitting, and it shimmered gently in the soft starlight. Perhaps due to the magic, or perhaps because the surface was embossed with shell-shaped patterns, giving the impression that she was wearing the scaled skin of a large serpent. The neckline plunged dangerously low, leaving her to assume that most of her new-found warmth was from the lush fur cloak enveloping her shoulders. Richly-lined boots, gauntlets, and a wide, decorated sash-belt completed the outfit. She could even feel the reassuring weight of sharp daggers tucked in at her wrists.

Except for the tan fur cloak and brown boots, everything was a shade of deep and vibrant green.

She hadn't conjured her armor. She hadn't conjured anything. It was the dress.

_His_ dress, and his magic.

"What the hell is this?"

Her huffed, fiercely whispered question seemed to provide a catalyst of some sort. Loki didn't even try to hide his laughter as he rolled away from her to lean back against the rugged stone. His shoulders shook with the force of his silent amusement, his mouth pulled back in a wide smile, his sharp teeth glinting.

He mockingly wiped a non-existent tear from his eye. "You really thought you did it yourself?"

She crossed her arms over her chest, of which an overwhelming amount was bare. "Loki. You put me in a dragon cat-suit. And you intended this for Sigyn. Are these giant _horns _on my headpiece?"

She pointed at her ridiculously elaborate coif in exasperation, and watched his eyes drift up as another snort of quickly muffled laughter escaped. He was laughing at _her_, which should have made her angry, but she was simply too startled to see such genuine amusement from him. She was much more accustomed of late to seeing him feign humor, or use it to express haughty disdain. Yet now his expression had softened so considerably from his usual hard mask, he looked almost boyish, even with the Jotun features.

It was, to her chagrin, almost contagious. She started to imagine her beautiful, perfect, willowy sister in this get-up, and felt her own lips quirk up at the edges, despite her attempts to quell it.

Loki took swift advantage. "Do you perhaps recall when your sisters came to visit, during the presentation of Theoric to the guardians of Asgard?"

She did remember, although it was long, long ago. Loki had lured her sister to the basilisk garden while disguised as the handsome, sought-after warrior. Sigyn's rather undignified squeal of reproach had been enough to send no less than five intrepid guards running to her defense, including Theoric himself. She had discovered Loki sneaking out the back during the resulting confusion, a look on his face of feigned and exaggerated innocence. It was much like the expression he wore currently. The laughter bubbled up before she could stop it, and she clapped her hand over her mouth to stifle the sound.

She rolled her head to the side, with a begrudging smile. "I mean, can you imagine her reaction to this? W_hat_ in the Nine Realms were you thinking?"

"I suppose I was thinking that I…" He trailed off, his own smile dying.

It was a rare day when Loki of the Silver-tongue was caught off his guard. The silence was disconcerting, interrupted only by wind whistling through the rocks.

And the distinctive rattle of chains, too-close for comfort.

The sound came from her right, and she instinctively turned her head, but found nothing there. Perhaps her mind played tricks, but when she turned back, Loki was no longer at her side.

She sucked in a breath, felt the rushed intake of cold painfully hit her insides, and peered around the rock.

One of the most feared creatures of the Nine Realms had moved from its position in the shadows to stand near the stone pillar. The huge wolf beast towered over Loki, who to her horror was slowly approaching. The beast's fur was pitch and shadow, eyes blood-red and angry, jaws pulled back in a dangerous snarl of warning.

"Loki!" she hissed, from her position of relative safety near the rock.

He turned, and the look on his face was not one of fear, but she could not yet place it.

"Even before I knew what I was, I was drawn to this place. I discovered it whilst studying the means to travel hidden pathways between worlds. It was then that I met Fenrir."

_Fenrir. _

The monster wolf of Ragnarok.

Many knew the prophecy from Vanir long ago, but few spoke of it, and the ones that did spoke in hushed whispers of fear and terror.

Yet _he'd_ said the name like the beast was a pet.

_I always make time to come here when I visit Jotunheim._

"That…that _beast_ is destined to be the downfall of Odin. Is that why you're here? We come all this way so you can gloat?"

His face changed. She saw it only for the briefest of moments. But she saw it nonetheless. She _knew_ it now, the expression she could not place on him before.

It was anguish.

Sorrow.

A gulf of misery and grief, but not for himself.

His voice, as usual, betrayed nothing. His tone was condescending, carried on the wind to reach her ears with needle-sharp precision.

"Guardian, is your world so simple? This _beast_, as you name him, has been chained his entire life, for no other crime than the suspicion that he _might_ commit one. Does fate so define us, that we must be condemned for it, before it even comes to pass?"

His winged words rang with a truth that could not go ignored. She felt unhinged, her safe little compartmentalized world breaking apart yet again, as it had when he confessed the truth of his soul.

Would he leave her nothing to stand on? Nothing of her world? Was she to have nothing even of herself?

Or was his truth nothing more than another convoluted game.

She swallowed stiffly, unable to respond. The wind rushed past again, drawing forth the sting of tears. She watched, helpless and torn, as Fenrir sidled closer to Loki, stopping only once the limit of chains was reached, the earlier growl of warning replaced by a soft whine.

Loki's gaze still pinned her to the rock, vivid and full of condemnation now. "He has known no kindness."

"Except from you?"

He took a breath, and turned back to the wolf. "No, not even from me."

Loki extended his arm, not quite past the limit that the chains allowed the beast, but in clear invitation. The wolf stretched his neck forward, and when that proved insufficient, the beast shifted his legs. This put pressure on the chain, and seemed to trigger some sort of reactionary enchantment throughout the rigid metal.

She watched, a lump in her throat, as the fetters tightened around his ankles, the jagged edges of the clasps digging into skin. Blood pooled in the snow, crimson flags signalling pain and torment. The beast yelped in protest and slunk back towards the pillar, breath now coming in labored pants.

She gasped in horror and stumbled forward in protest. She'd never enjoyed seeing anything in pain, beast or otherwise. "Why not release him then, if his fate bothers you so?"

Could such brazen words really be hers?

Loki did not look at her to answer, and she had to strain to hear his quiet response. "I cannot. I attempted such a thing, once before. But I only caused additional torment. Many decades passed before I could yet approach again. A deep enchantment holds him here. And it is not of Odin's doing, of that I am sure."

The sadness was clear in his voice this time, as if he tired of hiding it. And along with it she heard a certain wistfulness that settled in her heart and twisted like a vise.

The beast moved forward again, then stood still, head bowed. Complacent, and yet still willing to risk pain and torment for a mere touch. She could only watch, barely breathing, as Loki moved past the limit of the chain and extended a tentative hand towards the rich sable fur.

Time itself seemed hesitant to intrude upon the sanctity of the moment. It was as if she stood there for hours, waiting on the precipice of something she could not begin to fathom. It could have been only minutes she spent watching them so close, two creatures bound by the vicissitudes of fate yet separated by a vast chasm that mere trust surely could not cross.

She was mesmerized by the sight, enchanted by the almost touch that for some bizarre reason she wanted desperately to happen.

She was so mesmerized that she didn't hear the new threat at her back until it was too late.

* * *

Loki made his way, silent and invisible, through the winding labyrinth of massive caves and tunnels extending deep below the dangerous mountains.

There was only one being in this part of Jotunheim who could have taken his little source of power from him so easily.

He tried not to think of what could be happening to her. Mimir had aided Odin in the past, to his own advantage, but he was not considered a friend to anyone. The notoriously shape-shifting loner of a giant was ancient. Tricky. He was certainly not an ally of Asgard, but he was even less so to Vanaheim.

During the Aesir-Vanir war he had attempted to rise to more universal power through mutual betrayal. It was the Vanir who exposed his treacherous plotting. This was the beginnings of peace for the two races of the Asgardian dimension, but Mimir had nursed a long-standing grudge against the inhabitants of Vanaheim, and the wisdom they were known to possess.

However, the onset of Ragnarok had a way of making allies of the worst of enemies, as he had recently discovered.

It was a vain hope. And foolish, as all hopes were.

Such absurdity did not become him.

He steeled himself. He was here for one purpose. He could not rely on the progress of Midgard, and he would never trust the plots of Odin. He must acquire the means to his soul on his own.

And knowledge was power. On this, Loki and Midgard could agree.

He focused on the channels of magic that bound him to his guardian, following her faint trail through the icy caverns.

She was close, he was surprised to discover.

He paused.

And getting closer.

His ears caught the sound of the crunch of footsteps on the layers of icy snow, and he knew three things for certain.

She was running.

She was weak.

And she was not alone.

Loki smiled.


	10. A Whisper of Dreams

_**Disclaimer: Nothing from Marvel or Thor or Avengers is mine.**  
_

* * *

Syn would never forget the day the princes of Asgard came to Vanaheim. The official presentation was to be the beginnings of a royal marriage, a symbol of the enduring peace between the Aesir and the Vanir.

The entire palace had been bustling with activity for weeks in preparation.

Syn's own preparations had started before dawn, on the day of their arrival, when she had been uncomfortably stuffed into a dress that was stiff and restricting and very different from her usual choice of bare feet and loosely-fitting trousers.

Mama had brushed her bright hair until it crackled. Then, after what had seemed like hours of poking and taming and yanking the unruly mess into some semblance of subdued order, she had finally been deemed acceptable.

Her three older sisters had been proclaimed far more than acceptable. To Syn's young, fanciful mind they had floated into the main hall like mist and cloud, in dresses of silver and white, all of them wearing their hair loose around their shoulders in the Vanir tradition. Their beautiful silver-golden locks were silky, with loose waves that did not need to be tamed into submission with pins and softly muttered curses.

Syn remembered twisting one of her own carefully prepared curls around her finger, in her usual habit, and wondering how she had ended up with so much copper and coil running throughout her own wily strands.

Freya had swatted at her hand. "A lady of Vanaheim does not toy with her hair."

"Oh Freya, she's probably just nervous." Sigyn had dropped to a knee in a flowing gown of moonlight silk, her luminous, beautiful blue eyes shimmering with unshed tears.

"We must show our best this day, little minx," she'd added, before enfolding her in a forceful embrace that showed no concern for carefully pressed garments or smudged cosmetics.

Syn hadn't understood why her sister had been so sad in that moment until years later, when she herself had had to say goodbye to her beloved home.

But what her sister hadn't understood was that she hadn't been beset by nerves. Quite the contrary. She'd been near busting with excitement and curiosity. The moment Freya had been distracted with final preparations, she'd made her sneaky escape to the front courtyard, determined to get the first glimpse of the approach of the Aesir.

What she'd gotten instead was mussed hair and a muddied dress.

The trellis in the garden to the side of the main entrance had been climbed countless times. But never in such an unwieldy outfit.

Freya had been horrified to see her take her place at the end of the presentation line at her uncle's side, mere moments before the arrival of the Aesir. Frey had let loose a loud snort, quickly muffled, before offering his hand. She had taken refuge at his leg, swiping desperately at the smudges of dirt on her formerly pristine dress.

She'd been so busy trying to tidy herself, in a state of embarrassed shame, that she'd all but missed the ensuing fanfare she had so coveted. Her eyes had been fixed on her scuffed shoes, until the moment the hairs on her neck had stood straight on end, filling her with the vivid and uncomfortable realization that someone was staring at her.

She'd lifted her eyes to meet the demanding, intimidating gaze of the All-father himself.

This moment had etched itself so deeply into her memory that she had dreamt the scene throughout her youth.

He had _stared_, his one eye piercing her to her very heart. She'd assumed her appearance had drawn his attention.

But now, as she stared into Mimir's well, shaking with a cold that stilled her blood, she re-lived that moment from her past.

And saw herself, through Odin's eye.

But she wasn't a muddied little imp of a girl.

She was a woman fully grown, still clinging to Frey's hand, her hair, still a mass of coppery curls tumbling around her shoulders and down her back.

But she wore the green dress. Loki's dress.

She blinked, and the courtyard vanished. Now she saw herself standing somewhere she could not recognize.

In her hand she held something golden. A golden shard that gave off heat and yellow light and power. She squinted, tried to focus on the object. But the more she tried to focus, the farther away she seemed to get, and the golden glow expanded. It illuminated her face, growing ever brighter to encompass the lean dark-haired man standing across from her, head bowed.

She watched as he closed her hand around the shard and touched her face with his hand.

He looked…he looked almost…

She flinched in pain, blinking rapidly, trying to discern details that only blurred the more she pursued them.

A new light appeared, different from the golden glow. It felt menacing. Burning. It brightened painfully, blinding her to all else, until the image shifted yet again.

She now looked on Yggdrasil from afar, these coils of energy that spread throughout the cosmos, and they were filled with a golden glow. And outside of the circle of light generated by the world tree, there was nothing. Only ash and darkness remained of the world.

A world that had been destroyed.

She blinked again as the vision dissipated, and water filled her sight, flushed with swirls of crimson.

Pain sluiced through her temple. Her eye.

She felt the large hand pulling her head back from the fountain, fingers twisted cruelly in her hair. She breathed deep and found herself looking upon those red burning eyes again.

Filled with hate.

Filled with venom.

She felt the reassuring weight of a dagger in her hand. She had managed to pull it out after she'd been dumped unceremoniously on the cold, hard floor of the massive cavern that housed the infamous well.

Mimir had seen many things, but when she had looked deep into_ his_ eyes, she knew he was not going to keep his promise of letting her go after she shared her vision with him.

He was greedy for Vanir knowledge.

_And_ Vanir blood.

She stabbed at his wrist, but he anticipated her move, and slapped her hand away.

The force of the blow from the massive giant sent her to the floor. She rolled quickly away from him towards a narrow tunnel she'd spied earlier, and left a double of herself where she'd fallen.

The distraction would be brief, and probably ineffective, but it gave her a small window.

And she had always been fast.

She moved quickly towards the tunnel and didn't look back, even at the sound of his enraged roar, keeping her focus on avoiding the treacherous patches of ice.

* * *

His little guardian stumbled in the snow.

Loki heard the thud as if it were right in front of him, and then he heard her soft mutter of pain, and one of the vile Midgardian curses of which she was so inordinately fond.

He shook his head in annoyance, despite the fact that no one could see it, and took a sharp left down a steeply inclined tunnel.

It was completely dark, but he needed no light to see.

The same could not be said of Syn, as she emerged from the darkness in front of him. She was looking behind her as she stumbled forward.

He quietly stood his ground as she barreled into his chest.

She shrieked, and whipped her head around, catching herself blindly on the lapel of his overcoat. She must have recognized him, for she did not struggle but simply seemed content to take a moment to slump against him.

He wanted to shake her, to seek out information imperative to their survival, but he was so horrified when he got a glimpse of her bloodied, broken face that he could only manage a shocked outburst.

"What have you done!"

She caught her breath. "We must get back to Asgard, Loki. Please."

And then her warm, delicate body became nothing more than a dead weight in his arms.

He stood there for what seemed like ages, holding her body in the cold dark.

Listening.

Waiting.

He could feel the other presence in the labyrinthine maze of tunnels.

It was rare for Mimir to leave his well deserted.

It was the perfect opportunity to slip in.

He shifted Syn's unmoving body against him, before lowering her to the floor and carefully laying her back against the frigid wall.

He had not gotten far down the narrow, frozen corridor when the sharp sliver of realization lodged in his back like a knife.

He had not felt warm when he held her.

He slid to a halt and focused on the coil of energy, so much a part of him now, adding to his magic and thrumming with power. And entwined throughout the energy, he felt the constraints of the harness.

_Her_ link to Yggdrasil, joined with his own.

Her power, with the potential to augment his own.

It was dimming.

As was his own.

He stood there, in the freezing dark, faced with a choice he had no desire to make.

* * *

_They moved as if of one mind, but the choice to move had not been their own._

_They covered the land like a pestilence, legions of warriors from ages past, warriors who had given their lives for purposes good and evil. They gathered, their souls propelled forward by a force none could deny._

_Syn saw them, greater in number than any immortal had time to count in the vast expanse of existence. _

_And in the distance, Asgard._

_She screamed, and found her scream echoed in the face of a Frost Giant, his visage full of the fury of battle and terrible to look upon. He was covered in blood and gore and she almost choked on the scent of death._

_And in the distance, her beloved Midgard, covered in frost and ice and snow._

_And death. So much crippling death._

_The giant seemed to sense her presence. He roared with such force she felt her chest tremble, his red eyes glowing with hatred as he cut her down._

_She screamed again, her vision clouding with crimson, until the red color crystallized into another pair of menacing, venom-filled eyes._

_Mimir. _

_He was almost upon them. _

_Blood-soaked hair blocked her vision as her world bounced and tilted._

_She was being carried again, hoisted on a shoulder. Did the giant have her already?_

_No, his eyes were behind. _

_And gaining fast. _

She screamed, and awoke with a start, finding herself not caught within the cold confines of the cave, but wrapped in the cloying embrace of luxurious midnight satin.

She sat up slowly, expecting pain, but only a shiver of cold greeted her as the lush bedspread slipped from her shoulders.

She took a tentative peek at her surroundings. She was sitting on an ornately carved four-poster bed positioned in the center of a circular stone room. She couldn't make out many details in the flickering shadows, except for the one and only source of light, a small lamp resting on a dressing table against the far wall.

She gingerly scooted to the edge of the massive bed and swung her legs over the side until her toes met cold stone. Padding slowly and silently across the room, she was unable to focus on anything but the lure of the light.

And the mirror that reflected it, the only other object resting on the table, as if in invitation.

She sucked in a breath as she got closer, and forced herself to look at her reflection.

She wasn't exactly sure what she'd been expecting.

Perhaps an ugly, twisting scar. Dried, caked bloodstains. Clumped and matted hair.

Not this.

She watched her own russet eyebrows lift in surprise, both golden eyes reflecting back at her, bright and startled. Her fair skin was smooth and unmarked, a healthy flush of color at her cheeks. Even her hair was clean and dry, falling in silky soft curls to frame her face.

She showed not a hint of her recent struggles. She couldn't help but wonder if it was a trick of the sparse light.

She also couldn't shake the feeling that something was very, very wrong.

The darkness and shadows were wrong.

Unbalanced.

Menacing perhaps, in some capacity, but she couldn't quite put her finger on it.

She suppressed a scream as Loki's reflection appeared behind her in the mirror. Before she could turn to confront him, he reached around an arm and covered her left eye with his hand. She was plunged instantly into utter and complete darkness, Loki's low voice the only harbor she could cling to in the rising tide of her alarm.

"I can heal the pain, take away the scars…but once you have given something of value to Mimir, it is not easily restored. I cannot create another eye for you. Only the illusion of one."

She reached up and clawed at his wrist, pulling his hand from her eye. She leaned forward to stare in the mirror again, poking at her cheekbone, pulling at her eyelid.

Everything seemed so _normal._

Except for when she closed her left eye.

She breathed deeply in the dark, hoping to calm the fractured beat of her heart, and inhaled the wintry aroma of some spice that brought to mind the crisp conifers of the forest green. She thought she caught a hint of mint. She opened her eye and turned, finding herself trapped between his body and the table. She had to resist the ridiculous urge to lean closer and sample his scent again.

Speech did not come easy. "Thank you. For the eye and for….for saving my life at the well."

His gaze hardened. "Do not be so foolish as to presume any of my actions were for _your_ sake, guardian. If you die, your power, this power that is rightfully _mine_, goes with you. If you are truly grateful, you can demonstrate this by telling me everything you saw when you looked in the well, and whatever you continue to see."

She swallowed. "What I continue to see?"

"In your dreams, and even in your waking moments, you will experience visions. You might say, in your quaint Midgardian way, that the well is a gift that keeps on giving. It is impossible to know for how long, and it is equally impossible to control _when_ it happens. There are some circles that whisper of beings accomplished enough in magic to control the content of _what_ is seen, but that is a moot argument to pursue here. You had a dream just now, did you not?"

She narrowed her eyes. "You were watching me sleep?"

"Someone had to do the watching, _guardian_."

She sighed. He was right. She did need to focus on her duty. "It is imperative that we return to Asgard. Where are we?"

"Where we are is not of consequence."

His defensive snap only served to stoke the fires of her curiosity. Everyone in Asgard suspected that Loki was in possession of a secret hideaway, where he honed his magical abilities and stored powerful artifacts. No one had ever laid eyes upon it. Intrigued, she took a peek around, hoping to get a glimpse of anything else as decadent as the massive bed she had recently vacated.

Broad shoulders moved to block her perusal. "Focus, Syn. The visions, if you please."

She swallowed and touched her fingertips to her temples. Her mind was full of sharp and jagged images, and just like shattered glass, they were difficult to piece together. A few, however, were as clear and vivid as the morning sun glinting off the armor of the enemy.

"I saw ranks of the dead amassing at Vigridr Field. I saw Jotuns invade Earth, pulling Fimbulvetr in their wake. Please, Loki. We must return to the palace. Ragnarok is imminent."

Loki looked decidedly unperturbed, waiving a hand in dismissal of her revelations. "The denizens of Hel leave their proper domain, the mighty winter of winters is brought upon Midgard. We have known for centuries these harbingers of Ragnarok. Now tell me _everything_ you saw. No detail is insignificant. Each piece can have a greater meaning, some hint to gain me the knowledge of what I need."

Her frustration grew. "We're wasting precious time," she snapped. "Mimir can't give you back your soul."

His eyes turned as frosty as his scent. "It was not my soul I was seeking." He leaned forward, placing his hands on either side of her hips. "Odin will not give me knowledge of how to obtain the true power of the mark that is mine to possess, but the well could have. And _you_ have taken that chance from me."

Her temper bubbled over, and she pushed against his chest to loosen the impromptu cage. "I was not the one to bring us to Jotunheim on the eve of Ragnarok. You care only for power. Does nothing else matter?"

He backed away from her towards the center of the room. His expression gave nothing away, but his voice was full of a kind of truth and conviction she was accustomed to hear only from the noblest of warriors.

"Not to me."

She sputtered, felt her anger flare again, and then die a sudden death. What must it be like, to have no other meaning, to have nothing else of significance or value but to be consumed by a lust for power? She sighed, and leaned back against the table, resting her head in her hand, ready to tell him whatever he wanted if it would speed their return to Asgard.

"Do you remember the first time you came to Vanaheim?"

She heard a quickly indrawn breath and looked up, only to find that he had blended seamlessly into the pitch and shadow, using the lamp at her back to his advantage, along with the black fabric of his Vanaheim clothing.

* * *

Syn hadn't yet realized the most recent change in her attire.

But his traitorous body had. It tightened in vicious response.

The mark, this conduit of energy that served as a link between them, magnified many things.

It had proved a difficult distraction ever since he had healed her wounds, the process draining him in a way he had never before experienced. It felt as if he had been leeched not just of physical energy, but of something far deeper and dangerously more personal. It had given him the ridiculous urge to climb into bed with her and lose himself to the lure of sleep, the kind of warm and nourishing sleep he had never before tasted.

And now it seemed to be manifesting as lust, hitting him hard and mean. His obsession with possessing her power was now a savage desire to possess_ her_. It was as if the energy of his body recognized its mate, the energy that was hers.

He wanted these powers joined.

He wanted their bodies joined.

He clenched his teeth against the dangerous kind of heat that danced through him like wildfire, almost daring to chase away the constant, bitter chill. He focused on her sudden shift in conversation. He welcomed any distraction from the raw ache, even if it came from vivid reminders of past mistakes.

From a time when he _had_ bothered to place value on something other than himself.

It had come as a surprise to the All-father to discover that the Lady of the Vanir had chosen the younger of the two sons of Asgard for her precious daughter. And while Thor had certainly been relieved to escape the bonds of marriage at the time, the slight remained a blow to his massive pride.

Thor had never been overlooked, had no experience in that particular feeling.

Thor had been easy to ignore.

More alluring and difficult to deny had been the absurdities of his own mind.

Thoughts of a companion all his own. Someone to share a life with. Someone who might keep the darkness at bay. Someone he had hoped, with a desperation that now shamed him, would banish the lonely coldness of his existence.

_Fool._

There was no someone to keep the cold at bay. Only power would suffice for that purpose.

He shook himself from the haze of the past. "Why do you ask this now?"

She winced at his harsh tone, cocking her head in his direction as she used his voice to find him. "I saw it. In the well. I think Odin saw something that day too. Something in me."

Her eyes were startlingly large in her face, flickering with confusion and memory.

"Tell me," he demanded.

If he hadn't been watching her so closely, he might have missed her slight hesitation, before she squared her shoulders and lifted her chin an imperceptible fraction.

"I saw myself, through Odin's eye, on that day. At first, I was in the courtyard, but as an adult, not a child. I was wearing your dress. And then I found myself standing within the world tree, holding a golden shard. I wasn't alone. There was a dark haired man across from me and he….he…"

She blinked, and looked for a moment lost as she searched the shadows for him again. "It was you. And you…we had a shard. A golden shard. One to fight the horror of the end times. Odin knows something of the location of this shard. We _must_ return to Asgard."

It angered him, in that moment when he so wavered on the precipice of his own irrational desire, that she thought she could lure him back to the palace with half-truths. "Why are you so full of care for Asgard? Think you they return the sentiment? Did they not cast you out?"

His barb flew from the dark and, unerring, found its mark. He could feel her anger rise like it was his own, sense it filling her, though she tried to fight it. "And who should I care for, _you_, my true betrayer? At least Asgard has noble purpose in this time of calamity, instead of greed for ever-increasing power."

He snorted, and moved out from the shadows to the very edge of the small circle of light generated by the lamp. "On that score alone their hands drip with more blood than I could ever hope to achieve. Why do you judge them by one standard and save another measure for me?"

He watched her hesitate. Syn was loyal to Asgard, but the gifts of truth-seeking ran deep in her blood.

She seemed to come to some sort of a decision, pushing herself up from the table to stand in front of it. His eyes lowered of their own accord, caught unprepared by the compelling lure of her body. The light shining behind her illuminated her every curve through the thin fabric she wore. He realized his mistake when her eyes furrowed, as she looked down to follow the heat of his gaze.

It seemed that she was about to realize exactly what it was she was currently wearing.

* * *

Syn gasped when she saw exactly how much she wasn't wearing.

Her dress turned armor had been replaced by a thin-strapped nightgown made of a deep emerald fabric, something that reminded her of lush silk. It felt buttery smooth against her skin. The material was undeniably rich, clinging to her curves and ending mid-thigh. It left nothing of her body to the imagination. Under Loki's penetrating regard, she unconsciously tugged at the thick, curled ends of her hair in a vain attempt to provide additional covering.

_A lady of Vanaheim does not play with her hair._

She dropped her hands to her sides and squared her shoulders at the memory of her mother's soft rebuke. But in light of her current wardrobe, she felt no closer to being a lady. She forced her chin up another notch, refusing to feel embarrassed for something over which she had no control.

Loki smirked, shifting from angry taunts to playful teasing with startling swiftness. "Alfheim tailors would weep to handle even a few threads of the fabric you wear. It is very rare, and only obtained by means of magic. You are very, _very_ welcome."

His mockery threw in stark relief his earlier dismissal of her gratitude, as if the gift of the dress was somehow more significant than that of her life.

"Give me back the full dress. Or better yet, the armor," she gritted out.

The smile he sent her would have looked genuine on just about anyone else. "Such choosey demands, from a beggar. If you do not find enjoyment in the garments I provide for you, perhaps you should endeavor to supply your own."

She was aware that her temper would only fuel his amusement, but she was too frustrated to care. "Is this some sort of mad game for you? Thank Yggdrasil that my sister never had to experience your perverted idea of a wedding gift. You are completely unprincipled."

"A man with no principles would have left you no covering at all."

His voice had lowered to a growl, full of both threat and a heady sort of promise. A shiver of expectation ran down her spine. She refused to analyze if it was fear or desire she needed to conquer.

Loki stalked towards her with the lazy grace of a predator confident in his own territory. She felt more vulnerable with his leisurely, steady approach than when she had faced the imminent threats of Mimir and Thanos. The moody flickering of light was unevenly reflected in his frosty green eyes, making him look as maddened as she had claimed him to be.

She panicked, and felt the energy build within her chest in response, seemingly outside of her control. She wasn't sure if it was dread or anger or even her own forbidden hunger that triggered the mark, or even some precarious concoction of all three.

Her predator almost upon her, Syn held out her arms in protest. She had planned to push him away, perhaps unwisely choosing fight over flight, but as she gathered her strength she felt the energy gather as well.

She pushed, and felt the energy tightly coil and drain in a burst of burning light. She could only watch in horrified shock as Loki was thrown back with some unseen force, his mask replaced by slack-jawed surprise, which turned to a grimace as he hit the far wall with an ominous thud.

Syn gasped, her guilt immediate. She rushed forward and fell to her knees at his unmoving side, splaying a hand over his chest. Relief filled her as she felt it rise and fall in a steady rhythm, in stark contrast to her own thundering pulse.

"Loki," she whispered.

His dark, sooty lashes rested against his skin, highlighting the pallor of his cheeks. In his current repose, he looked almost vulnerable. She reached her trembling hand towards his face, felt the silky skein of his hair tickle her fingertips. She was about to give into the urge to brush back the rebellious strands that had fallen forward when a groan escaped his lips.

His eyelids opened, giving her a glimpse of the pain within before he blinked and masked his torment.

"It seems the energy favors you," he rasped.

He took several deep breaths, and then propped himself forward with a grunt of pain.

"Help me gain my feet, guardian."

He had spoken sharply, which was to be expected, but she was still utterly taken aback. Loki never sought help. She almost wanted to analyze meaning behind the moment, but she was too consumed with the difficult task of leveraging his heavy frame to the massive bed. She didn't have the strength to lower him, but she tried her best to provide a solid anchor as he maneuvered himself down.

Except he did not let go of her arm as he descended.

She shrieked and tried to stop her fall so as not to hurt him further, but found herself caught in his embrace. He deftly rolled her on her back and shifted his body over her, his weight pushing her deep into the plush bedding.

There was no trace of his earlier pain. Only victory danced in his half-lidded eyes.

"Confess, Syn. Do you fall prey to every mad pervert in Asgard, or do you save it all for me? You must stop making it so easy. It is no longer a wonder to me that you fit in so well among the gullible humans."

Her jaw dropped. With all his machinations it was a damn wonder to her that he could still manage to find opportunities to toy with her. It seemed as innate to his nature as her desire for him was to her own.

She pushed at his chest with her palms, and when that wasn't enough to dislodge him, she bent her leg to gain the leverage to roll him off.

But the action only caused his slim hips to nestle deeper within the warm cradle of her own. With the silky material of her nightdress riding dangerously high on her thighs, his soft Vanaheim trousers provided only a thin barrier between them.

Her fickle body reveled in the feeling of his heat and hardness against her core, her lust shockingly immediate. She suddenly felt as if everything in her body was reaching for him, humming with an energy that really was his alone to control.

She tried desperately to fight the aggressive heat of desire that flooded her body. But her body knew what it wanted.

It _recognized_ him, in some elemental way.

She shook her head in silent denial as she watched his eyes change, the smug victory replaced by smoldering intent. "Don't you dare kiss me!"

He went still above her. She turned her head and sighed in something that wasn't quite relief, only to feel the scrape of his teeth against her neck.

It should have been impossible, that such a slight touch could sear her with such awareness, as if she were being branded. She gasped. "What are you doing?"

He nipped at her again, harder. "Complying with your demand."

His voice had lowered to a gruff whisper, leaving behind all traces of scorn or laughter, caressing her more softly than the warmed silk against her skin.

"I would comply with all of your demands. Is that not what you wanted, guardian, an obedient charge?"

That voice, just a mere rasp of sound, but full of smoke and heat and promise.

She pushed against him, but she knew she was already lost. He was impossibly hard and heavy against her. "You know what I meant. This is not the time for games."

"I am not gaming. You almost condemned me to incalculable torture at the hands of Thanos. It would behoove you to learn to be more specific with your demands."

His mouth moved to her ear, his teeth sharp against her skin as he nipped at her lobe.

"Come now," he coaxed, "does the kiss of my teeth count? Perhaps we should explore this intriguing dilemma further, for the sake of precision."

She wanted to answer with a biting reply of her own, but like the alluring call of the siren, his voice tempted her with her own downfall.

"If I touched just my tongue to you, would that be a kiss?"

It was no siren that whispered so dangerously in her ear, but the Prince of Darkness himself. If this voice offered her an apple, she would likely break just about any divine ordinance, without thought of repercussions, for a single, forbidden taste.

"Here, Syn. If I touched my tongue to you, here?"

He moved his hand up her side to caress her breast through the delicate fabric, causing a shiver of expectant pleasure that left her swelling and peaking. He smoothed the silk taut with his palm before brushing the pad of his thumb over her already aroused nipple. She was unable to deny him a soft moan of pleasure, nor could she stop herself from arching into his touch, her mind driven to distraction with thoughts of all the places she'd like him to put the velvety heat of his quick-silver tongue. She barely resisted the urge to rub herself against his leanly muscled thigh and prove just how easily she could be convinced to take back her earlier, foolish demand.

As if he could sense how close he was to another victory, he stilled his movement, his control, as always, impenetrable.

"Only a coward refuses to answer, when the answer does not suit the coward's preference. Can you not at least find the nerve to look at me, guardian?"

His will impossible to refuse, she turned her head to find his face mere inches from her own. The sparse flickering of light cast his beautiful features into shadow, making him look like the dangerous, fallen angel she had fancied him to be. She realized with a rush of damning clarity that her vulnerable soul was threatened far more perilously in Loki's arms than it had ever been at the hands of Thanos.

"You seem to need time to consider the matter further."

His eyes held her, pinned her more securely than his body as he shifted his weight, smoothing his hand down her trembling body.

"Shall we move on? We can always go back and revisit any questions you missed."

The words were taunting, but his tone still held the caress of a lover. His questing fingers traced patient circles from her belly down to her mound, each one closer to the core of her than the last. She waited in agony for that smoky caress of his voice. She knew he could feel her desire in the dampened silk between her thighs, but she was past the point of stopping him.

He was so close.

And then he stilled again.

She knew what he wanted.

Her surrender.

She had to voice it.

"Loki, please..."

His groan interrupted her, and she thought he would kiss her then, or touch her.

But there was no relief for her ache.

She opened her eyes to find him frozen in place, his head cocked to the side, his tenseness pulling her from the haze of desire.

And then she heard it.

She realized, with painful and sudden clarity, that it was not a moan that she had heard. The sound was equally low but reverberated from a distance, and grew louder as the seconds passed.

It was the blast of a horn.

One that she had never thought to hear.

No one did.

_Gjallarhorn._

Heimdall was sounding the Herald of the Twilight War.

Ragnarok no longer belonged solely to the realm of vision and prophecy.

It was here.


End file.
